Galton's Children
by LVDB
Summary: Lelouch meets a girl from his past who possesses inhuman powers and a terrible secret. Worse, he doesn't remember her. But he'd better remember soon...An unholy fusion of Code Geass, Elfen Lied, and Lelouch remaining in the royal family. Now complete.
1. Turn 1: Lelouch

**Chapter 1: Lelouch**

"Where were you last night?"

So Nunnally had noticed after all. Damn.

"Oh, just hanging out. You know…" I waved my hand airily and used the newly-lit pedestrian walk signal as an excuse to trail off.

Normally, I would have preferred to stand still. I'm not overly fond of Tokyo in the summertime. The hot, thick air forces itself into nostrils and causes jackets to constrict around their owners' shoulders. As a bonus, it carries the acrid smell of gasoline fumes. My leather loafers weren't ideal for hiking the thirty block distance to the pet store, either. Unlike my little sister, I don't spend an hour every day jogging. And she just _had_ to pick this afternoon to buy a housecat.

I said as much to Nunnally, and received a cheerful rebuke in return. Walking was good for me. After all, I couldn't rely on my good metabolism forever.

"Besides," she added with a conspiratorial wink, "the Ashford girls prefer athletic boys."

_Not when their armpits are soaked with sweat,_ I thought.

I rubbed my sunburned face and retorted that there was a difference between getting exercise and getting cooked. Nunnally ignored me and focused instead on a homeless woman in a tight pink shirt huddled under an umbrella. Now that the Royal Eugenics Department was getting to work in Japan in earnest, the twenty block radius under my sister's protection may have been the only safe place left for people like her.

"Maybe you should ask that lady for her umbrella, Your Pastiness," she said.

I gave her a sharp look, and she recoiled in feigned horror before bursting into a fit of giggles. I didn't mind—my griping had served its purpose. For now, the subject of last night had been safely sidestepped.

She pointed out a group of palm trees in the courtyard up ahead. Shade at last. We spent the next couple minutes walking through a sea of noisy Elevens and honking horns, only to find that the palms offered little protection. I cast a longing glance at the air-conditioned silver-and-gray interior of a pizza parlor and suggested a short lunch break.

My slavedriver/personal trainer/little sister wouldn't hear of it. We spent the next twenty minutes walking through a neverending treadmill of hot white cement, with Nunnally chirping encouragement the whole time. I tried to con one of our bodyguards into carrying me, but Nunners' disapproving glance vetoed that idea.

"If you keep avoiding exercise like this, you'll end up like Father."

She had a point. If I hadn't been suffering from the heat, I might even have complimented her on the cleverness of using my least favorite family member to goad me into exercise.

"You still haven't told me where you were last night," she said

As usual, her timing was impeccable. She'd waited until the victim was addled with sunstroke.

_Nothing much,_ _Nunnally, _I thought._ Just commanding terrorists and threatening Brother Clovis at gunpoint_. _Oh, and getting supernatural powers from a green-haired woman while we ran from a naked teenager with telekinetic abilities. You know, the usual_.

"I was just hanging out late, Nunnally."

Her eyes narrowed. Nunnally has an uncanny knack for spotting lies—a fact I've learned from hard experience. The curse of the vi Britannia family. Usually, it's easier to distract her than to bluff her, so I did.

"I'm sorry I didn't get back in time, OK? Besides, it isn't as if you're an invalid or anything. I know you can take care of yourself."

"You're trying to appeal to my vanity, Brother, and it won't work."

"Am I that transparent?"

"Crystal," she said.

Observant though she was, I had an advantage: My guilty tells could come from any number of things. I hinted at one.

"I was just playing chess, Nunnally."

"Gambling?"

"Er…no?"

She gave an exasperated sigh and I realized that I'd dodged the bullet. It suddenly occurred to me that concealing my activities on a 24/7 basis was going to be difficult. Case in point:

"You're hiding something else from me, aren't you Lelouch?"

_A flurry of images: My brother's panicked face when he thought he was about to die. Britannian soldiers being torn limb from limb by invisible arms. A female terrorist piloting an old Glasgow._

I shrugged. Nunnally let it pass for the time being. We continued walking.

"Clovis wants to meet you this afternoon."

Fortunately, Nunnally was looking the other way when I gave a guilty start—or at least what passes for a guilty start among the Britannian royal family. Most people probably wouldn't have noticed, but Nunnally is not 'most people'. I took a slow breath to make sure my voice was level.

"What does he want?"

She sighed again.

"He wants your help in the anti-terrorist campaign, silly." Despite the lighthearted words, she sounded uncomfortable. You'd think that spending years in the Britannian court would have inured her to violence. Not so.

"Didn't you hear what happened yesterday?" she said.

_Just don't put two and two together, sister. That would be…inconvenient._

"Yes, I did. Brother Clovis must have soiled himself. Did they catch the man who did it?"

She gave me a reproving look after my crack about Clovis. Then she told me that the man who'd forced Clovis to call off the attack hadn't been identified. He'd been wearing a helmet, and his voice was disguised with an obviously fake Britannian accent.

Clever guy.

We walked and baked for a couple more minutes.

* * *

"We're here!" Nunnally said at last.

A little golden bell rang as Nunnally pushed the door open. The place smelled of woodchip bedding and aquarium water, but I was too busy basking in the air conditioning to care. My sister announced that she was going to look for a kitten and scurried off to the back of the store while I flattened myself on the floor and tried to cool down. It went pretty well until an employee nearly tripped over me.

"Sir, are you all right?"

"That depends. Do you have any water?"

She smiled apologetically.

"Just dirty aquarium water. Sorry."

I thought for a moment and considered my options.

"_How_ dirty?"

The employee gave a nervous little laugh and went to feed the gerbils.

"Should've had the guy carry me," I muttered.

I used the hiatus to consider my situation. Clovis wanted me to help him with his anti-terrorism efforts. Well and good. It would give me a window into his operation.

On the other hand…

I'd stayed out of the political limelight after Mom's assassination. As any of my family could tell you, withdrawing from public life for even a short time is a serious risk. You get rusty quickly, and the opportunities for employment—governorships, military commands, Parliamentary seats—dry up just as fast.

Clovis was giving me a ladder back into politics, and this time, I had the Geass power. If the terrorists proved incompetent, I could always make a name for myself in the Britannian court by crushing them. I would accept Clovis's offer.

Unbidden, my thoughts turned to my family.

I've read enough to know that we're pretty rotten as families go. On the other hand, we're not _quite_ the horde of voracious backstabbers that Dad tried to make us into. Family is a funny thing—your relatives may only help you a couple times in your life, but most people overlook the secondary benefits: the peace of mind in knowing (or 'suspecting', in our case) that you have help at hand when you need it.

I mentally rifled through my relatives. Cornelia might be helpful, if kept in the dark. Euphie wasn't very powerful, but she'd always liked us, and could act as a backdoor emissary to Cornelia if necessary. Clovis was the main target, but he was oblivious so far. If he caught on, I could always look him in the eye and politely ask him to stop breathing. Odysseus was a gullible idiot. Guinevere was a non-threat. Carine was nuts. Then again, people like her have their uses. Schniezel, on the other hand, was probably too dangerous to court at this point in the game. All I had right now was a theoretical knowledge of power politics and the memories of small-scale politicking during my childhood. Schniezel was a brilliant practitioner who'd spent the last eight years as Prime Minister. Unless he made the colossal mistake of pissing Dad off, Schniezel had a lock on the succession, Odysseus or no Odysseus.

A couple minutes had passed, and there was still no sign of Nunnally. I started walking to the corner of the store where I'd seen her last. As I did so, I nearly tripped over a teenaged Eleven girl. In my haste, I hadn't seen her crouching on the floor next to the puppy cages.

"Still as clumsy as ever, I see." she said. Most girls would have punctuated that statement with a laugh. She managed only a depressed half-smile.

"Excuse me?"

I looked more closely at her. The girl's hair had been inexpertly dyed: it looked black from a distance, but there was a smattering of pinkish-red that must have been her previous color. The last puzzle piece fell into place when she looked up at me through eerily red eyes.

Not 'bloodshot'. Red.

I felt the vague stir of a painful memory, and with it, the urge to scream and lash out at the girl. Then the scene vanished again. That in itself is an odd event, since like most of the Royal Family, I have an eidetic memory.

"Don't you recognize me, Lelouch?"

There was a pained note in her voice, as if my failing to remember her was the worst thing imaginable. And in a moment, I realized that I did. This was the horned, naked girl from Clovis's research facility. The one that had chased the terrorists' truck after I'd become stuck in it. The one who'd killed C.C.

"You're the girl from the Shinjuku ghetto," I said.

C.C.—if that was her real name—had given me the Geass power to stop this girl. It hadn't worked, but the girl had let me go. She was either toying with me, or…

"I meant from before that," she said. Her faint smile started to shift into a frown.

I rapidly considered my options, thusly:

Whoever she was, she clearly expected me to know her. Yet surely I would have remembered a horned girl with telekinetic powers, which meant that we must have met sometime around the gap in my memory—near my tenth birthday, and my mother's assassination by an Eleven agent.

It would be unwise to admit that I didn't remember her. She didn't seem like the most emotionally stable individual. And then there was Nunnally to worry about. How would I get her out of here without triggering another mass slaughter?

"Of course," I lied. "It would be very difficult to forget you." The second part was true enough, I suppose.

She kept staring expectantly.

"I see you still have your horns," I said. It was a safe guess, and I calculated that my feigned reminiscing would encourage her to say something about our past--or hers--that would give me more clues.

She gave me a sad little smile.

"You always said they were cool," she said.

"My opinion hasn't changed."

"I didn't expect it to. Are you still seventeenth in line for the throne?"

_Bingo. _

"Fifteenth. Eric and Lily are dead."

"Oh...I'm sorry."

"No worries. I didn't like them much anyway."

Lily had kicked the bucket from heart complications less than a year ago, so that wasn't much help. Eric, on the other hand, had been blown to smithereens by a terrorist bomb barely a year after the conquest of Japan. Since Reynald li Brittania had been seventeenth in line until a year _before_ the invasion, I must have been about ten years old when I met this girl. The timeline fit perfectly with the memory gap.

"It's been seven years since I saw you," I said. "How do I know that you're who you claim to be?"

She narrowed her eyes

"How many pink haired girls with horns do you know?"

"The Britannian royal family has a dozen geneticists who could have duplicated you."

…_Whatever you are_, I added silently.

"My name's Lucy."

"Go on."

Her fists clenched. _Careful, Lelouch…_

"We met on Britannian mainland when I was ten years old. We played together."

I stroked my chin and pretended to consider her statement.

"You could have guessed that from clues in the conversation," I said. "As for the name…"

"We went to the royal zoo together! We met your parents!"

"And...?"

"You know the rest."

So…she'd done something she was ashamed of. But what?

"Lelouch, I've waited for this moment for a long time. I wondered if I could...I mean..."

"You want to apologize," I guessed, making it sound like a statement. I put just enough sarcasm into my voice that she'd interpret it as a joke if I was wrong. Either way, it gave the impression that I knew what she was talking about.

"Yes."

"I don't know if I can deal with this right now. In light of the seriousness of the offense..."--of which I had no idea, but it sounded good--"...I think we should talk about this when we have more time."

_And after I've run through Britannia's intel system and figured out what you are_, I thought.

For a second, I worried that she'd either explode into rage or start asking awkward questions. Instead, she simply nodded and said "okay" in that cold voice of hers. Time to change the subject.

"Did they keep you at the facility?" I asked.

"You mean you didn't come to rescue me?"

Well, damn_. That_ would have been a useful little lie, but I doubted I could make it fly now.

"No, I was dragged into that mess. I didn't know you were in there."

"Oh..."

"It must have been terrible for you," I added. Not that it was much of a stretch, since whoever ran the place let her run around naked and kept C.C. in a chemical vat.

She didn't look up from the puppy cage and she hugged her knees a bit more tightly.

"Oh yes. It was."

_Time for a friendly gesture, methinks..._

I kneeled down and put my hand on her shoulder. She seemed confused, and stared up at me as if I'd just stood on my head and sung "Happy Birthday" in Danish.

"I know it's an awkward time to ask, but you seem to be eyeing that puppy. Would you like me to buy it for you?"

If she'd been confused before, she was absolutely baffled now. Then a tear appeared in her eye. So my guess was right--she wasn't accustomed to normal affection. That would make things much easier. For a moment, I forgot that I was dealing with a mass murderer and allowed myself to feel a little pity for her.

The moment passed quickly.

"No…I…" she stammered. "I mean…it's very nice of you, Lelouch, but I have money. I killed an elderly couple last night. They were loaded."

She grinned through the tears.

_Hmm...._

"Hello again, Brother."

We both jumped as Nunnally spoke. She was standing behind us cradling a black cat in her arms. I prayed that she hadn't overheard anything. Lucy's eyes widened and she paled when she saw my sister.

"I thought you were getting a kitten," I said conversationally.

"I thought so too until I saw this cute little guy. The pet shop owner said that he's a stray. They were going to give him to a Humane Society unless somebody takes him."

"Does he have a name?" I struggled to keep my voice simultaneously level and just loud enough to draw Nunnally's attention away from Lucy's nervous twitching.

"I think I'll call him Arthur."

"Good name. He's lucky you found him."

Nunnally flashed a sly smile.

"I see you've found somebody as well."

And just like that, I realized there was a way to get Nunnally out of there without getting her killed.

"Err…yes. Nunnally, why don't you take the guards back to our apartment and wait for me there? I'll have a car come around and pick me up in a few minutes."

I winked slightly at Lucy, as if I didn't want Nunnally to notice. She did, as I'd intended her to. Nunnally been trying to hook me up with a girl for a long time—she's a meddlesome little busybody when she wants to be—and there was no way she'd pass up the chance to leave me alone with a rather attractive Eleven girl. As for Lucy, she'd assume that I wanted to talk to her privately. She'd also probably welcome the chance to get away from Nunnally, who seemed to be making her uncomfortable.

Long story short: it worked.

* * *

After Nunnally left, I lead Lucy out the door. She recommended a few back alleys, but I ultimately decided that the advantages of a public venue outweighed the threat of someone overhearing us. She wouldn't be stupid enough to risk detection by going on a rampage.

Probably.

We sat down in an ice cream parlor—heavily air conditioned, by the way—and looked at the laminated menus.

"Anything you'd prefer?" I asked.

"You remember what I like."

Before I could reply, the waiter arrived at our table and asked me what we wanted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lucy watching me intently.

"I'll have a mint chocolate chip, please," I said. "And for the young lady…er…"

I looked for the weirdest flavor I could find and flashed an impish smile at Lucy.

"Bubblegum chocolate chip with a peanut butter swirl."

The man smiled, gibbered his unctuous congratulations to Lucy at landing a Britannian boy, and waddled off.

"What was that—"

I held up a hand. By now, I had my answer down pat.

"I just thought you'd want to try something a little different to mark our new relationship…"

I injected a little bit more seriousness into my voice and looked her in the eyes.

"…a fresh beginning," I said.

Her reaction was more or less what I'd expected. She hung her head and smiled at the same time, caught between shame at whatever she'd done and happiness that I was forgiving her for it. Her defenses were temporarily down. Time to blindside her with another piece of generosity.

"Would you like a place to stay?" I asked. It was a big chance, but the payoff was enormous.

She beamed.

"Would you?"

"For now," I said, as nonchalantly as I could. "Nunnally and I have a cabin outside of Tokyo that we don't use much. We'd have to pick up some contact lenses and hair dye. Fortunately, hair ribbons are back in fashion these days, so we could probably hide the horns…"

"Lelouch, how can you be so kind to me when I--?"

"I said we'll talk about that later," I said. "In the meantime..."--I mentally crossed my fingers--"...can I interest you in a job?"

The happy smile widened and became something altogether more unpleasant.

"Who do you want me to kill?"

I found a smile of my own starting to play across the corners of my mouth.

_Well, then..._


	2. Turn 2: Lelouch again

**Chapter 2: Lelouch**

_O ingenia magis acria quam matura_

_--_Lamperouge Family Motto

Clovis's office, which seemed awe-inspiring on camera, was cheap and shoddy in person. The shining hardwood floors were gouged with camera tracks, a miniature makeup department took up an entire corner of the room, and even the walls had cutaways placed just beyond the cameras' vision. The whole thing had the feel of a movie set. I had no idea how anyone could work in those conditions.

Clovis's glittering entourage of young retainers hovered behind his desk, clustered around a golden statue of the Britannian lion. In their sapphire-encrusted uniforms, they called to mind bluebottle flies. I looked more closely at the lion and realized that it was made of pasteboard.

On the far side of the room, a scowling man in a pony tail watched the proceedings with poorly disguised contempt. Ried, his name was. I'd done a bit of checking on him. He was a promising journalist with a flair for propaganda who'd had the misfortune of falling under Clovis's patronage early in his career. Clovis had many talents, but a knack for hands-off management wasn't one of them. Clovis had long ago forgotten—if indeed he'd ever learned—that giving a man a post and then micromanaging him cancels the original benefit and leaves him resentful.

It wasn't a mistake that I intended to repeat.

"Lelouch! So glad you could join me."

"Anything for the Viceroy of Area Eleven."

Clovis flashed a winning smile—as fake as they come, but I appreciated the effort—and motioned for me to sit down. I half-expected an attendant to creep up behind me and start powdering my nose. Instead, Clovis ordered his flunkies to wait outside—Ried included. The latter left in a foul temper.

True to form, Clovis kicked off proceedings with the combination of political chitchat and family gossip that my relatives find so intriguing.

"They say that President Maroczy's resigned," he said.

"Oh?"

"Apparently, he's announced to the EU's press corps that he wants a quiet retirement."

We exchanged a look—one of the patented "I know that you know that we both know" looks that our family is famous for. Without needing to say a thing, each of us knew the other's opinion of Maroczy's pronouncement: bullshit of the highest order. Nobody leaves politics voluntarily for the quiet life. I only know of three things that will drive a politician from his post: disgrace, blackmail, or a bullet.

"Any openings on the horizon?" I asked.

"Eh?"

"For a political comeback."

"Hopefully not. Maroczy was an incompetent. His replacement will be a far tougher opponent for Schniezel."

I spouted a little more mindless small talk while I considered the implications of that statement. Clovis was the Third Prince of Britannia—close enough to the throne that the succession seemed an attainable target. He was old enough now that direct political competition with Schniezel was possible. Apparently, he didn't intend to step aside lightly.

More intriguing, he'd told me about it. My family is notoriously close-lipped about affairs of state, and Clovis was no exception. During his very, _VERY _rare father-son moments, Dad taught us that even the smallest details should be hidden—if only to maintain an air of mystery to keep your subjects guessing. Clovis's revelation was huge.

"You and Schniezel always got along pretty well, didn't you?" Clovis asked.

So there it was: an invitation to choose between the two camps. Camps whose existence I'd discovered about a minute and a half ago. The offer was pretty blatant, too…at least by Royal Family standards.

"All of us did," I said. "Remember when the three of us had chess tournaments?"

_Translation:_ _I don't want to choose between you yet. I like you both._

Actually, I didn't like either of them, but feigning brotherly affection was a good way to get out of the dilemma.

"You usually won our games," Clovis replied.

_Translation: Don't play dumb. Love us or not, you know how Britannian politics is played. Make your choice._

I smirked.

"If I recall correctly, Brother Clovis, I won _all_ of them. But Schniezel clobbered me most of the time."

_Translation: I'm a minor league player. Give me time to think about it; I may be valuable to __you__, but Schniezel is unlikely to recruit me because he's brighter than both of us. _

Clovis leaned back in his chair and draped his impeccably dressed legs across the tabletop. He traced whimsical circles in the air with his foot.

"It's too bad you never applied that intelligence of yours to political work," he said.

_Translation: You'd better not have any thoughts of the throne yourself, you little bastard. _

"Real politics are more complicated than chess, Clovis. Chess has rules."

_Translation: Calm down. No threat here. Nope. None at all._

Clovis's feigned relaxation changed into genuine relief, and I congratulated myself at dodging my third bullet of the day. Becoming the close confidante of someone as powerful as Clovis is doubly dangerous. When you know their secrets, they get suspicious of you, and if they fall from grace….well, nobody likes a tyrant's confidantes, do they?

More to the point, Clovis wouldn't stand a chance against Schniezel.

"You didn't call me in here to reminisce," I said.

"No…but first, some tea."

Clovis leaned forward and pressed the secretary's "call" button, knocking papers onto the floor as he did so. He barely noticed—such is the self-assurance of a Britannian prince who's spent his whole life with other people to clean up after him.

The tea was awful.

I checked my watch. By this time, Lucy would be hiding on a subway car _en route_ to the New Yorkshire Regiment. Crouching amid the rows of oiled, brand-new Sutherlands, she would be watching her victims as they laughed and chatted about Eleven girls and took long drags on their cigarettes. Doubtless she would be smiling in anticipation of the kill.

She would wring their necks—gently, so as not to arouse suspicion when the coroners found them. A roomful of severed heads would be a dead giveaway--no pun intended. And then, after she'd draped the crew across the floor like an obscene carpet and carried the Sutherlands into the old disused subway station we'd agreed upon, she'd come back for something far more valuable. Information.

Clovis sat across from me, clearly readying himself for a long harangue. Now was the best time to ask for a small favor. The large ones could come later.

"Clovis, I have something to ask you before you begin."

He deflated a little at that. It's disorienting to get interrupted when ninety percent of your conversations involve reading from a teleprompter.

"What is it?"

I looked at the ceiling and affected an embarrassed grin.

"I have…ahem…I'm keeping an Eleven mistress in my cabin outside of the city. I wondered—"

"FINALLY!" Clovis shouted.

He jumped up from his chair and gave me a hearty slap on the back that might have briefly jarred my eyeballs from their sockets.

"Why Lelouch, this is simply _wonderful_! We were beginning to think you were..."

"What?"

"Oh, you know…"

"No, I…What?! How can you even _think_ that I was…Wait…'_we_'?!"

Clovis winked and patted me on the back.

"Now, now Lelouch…that's all behind us now. I'll just tell them that we were wrong …"

"I'm just theatrical!"

"I'm sure you are," he replied soothingly.

"When did I ever give the impression—"

"Well quite frankly, we always wondered about that Suzaku kid…"

"Kururugi's a prime minister's son. I befriended him for political reasons."

Clovis ruffled my hair and gave me a brotherly punch on the shoulder. I dug my nails into the chair's leather upholstery.

"It's your own business as long as you produce heirs to keep Dad's geneticists happy."

Then he chuckled.

"What?"

"This is really going to screw up the betting pool."

"Clovis, it is quite possible that I'm going to kill you right now."

He made a warding gesture with his hands.

"Hey, don't blame me," he said. "It was Euphie's idea."

"You know what? I'm just going to forget that this conversation ever happened."

"That would be best," he agreed.

"Er, ahem....Back to business, then. You need to keep your secret service goons away from her. No surveillance of the house, no background traces. Nothing.""

He stroked his chin. Not suspicious yet, fortunately…but curious.

"I'm not going to be sticking with her long-term, and I don't want her fellow Elevens to find out that she's collaborating," I explained.

"That's very noble of you," he said.

"Noble nothing. She's useless to me if her cover is blown. Remember what Dad always said about native mistresses?"

"'The best way to keep tabs on what's going on beneath the surface of a society'," he recited. "Point taken. I'll leave her alone."

"Good."

"Now that that's settled, I expect your first recommendations for a counterterrorism campaign within a few days."

"You can have them now, if you like. I warn you, though: they're a little extreme."

He mulled this over for a bit. I, on the other hand, was counting down the seconds on the wall clock behind him.

_Five._

_Four._

_Three…_

"Lelouch, I think you should know something."

_Two…_

"Oh? Do tell."

_One…_

"The Elevens are fairly docile at the moment. I'm not interested in cures that are worse than the disease—"

RRRRIIIINNNNGG!

_Zero._

Clovis let a rare scowl slip past his guard. The phone clattered as he yanked it from its setting and demanded to know what was wrong. Apparently, Military Train #6 had gone silent.

"And _why_, exactly, do you need to inform me of technical glitches?"

Clovis's face turned ashen at the reply. He removed the phone from his ear and slowly hung up.

"Trouble?" I asked.

The train, it seems, had exploded directly underneath the Tokyo armory. Months' worth of weapons production went up in smoke in less time than it took to call him about it.

What an unfortunate coincidence.

"It seems that you're in need of an exterminator," I said.

Clovis just stared ahead. If the court painter was there, he probably would have commented on the interesting juxtaposition of Clovis's long, girlish hair and the terrified grimace on his face. I could easily guess the question running through his mind: _What will I tell Father?_

Far be it from me to pass up an opportunity like that.

"Dad's going to be furious unless we can fix this quickly," I said.

Clovis grabbed at the lifeline like a drowning man.

"_We_? You said _we_? You mean you'll--?"

"I'll do it, but you need to give me a wide scope of authority. And complete secrecy about my involvement."

"Secrecy?" he asked.

"I want to keep a low profile. If this campaign works out, I expect credit where credit is due. In the meantime, I don't want anybody asking awkward questions about me. As far as the Japanese and the rest of the family are concerned, I'm a noncombatant. Got it?"

He stammered his agreement. Thank heaven Clovis doesn't bargain well when he's rattled. You might think that he'd gladly ignore his promise later on and claim the credit himself. That was a possibility, but one which went against an odd truism in politics: even among a group of backstabbers like us, it's usually prudent to keep your word.

"There's more," I said.

He had the good grace to suppress a groan.

"What do you want, Lelouch?"

"Not much. Unrestricted access to your intel databases, along with enough security software to protect my browsing habits from prying eyes…including yours, by the way. I also want to be let into every meeting that deals with the terrorist problem. Oh, and the contact information for everybody who's involved in this operation."

He sighed and drew up a seat.

"Give me your assessment of the situation," he said.

I put my hands behind my back and paced a couple times. Mostly for dramatic effect.

"You're trying to hunt rats with a tank, Clovis. You've assembled an overwhelming superiority in men and materiel, but you're not fighting the right kind of war. You're trying to draw the terrorists into a pitched battle. That's ridiculous."

"Oh?"

"Think about it. You can't hit them with conventional forces unless they choose to show themselves. Under those circumstances, there's only one reason they would come into the open."

"When I'm threatening their home base?"

I wondered how a man as politically talented as Clovis could be so brainless militarily.

"When they know that they'll win. Bases can be abandoned and rebuilt. The only battles you'll be able to fight with them are the ones that you're sure to lose."

Clovis's jaw tightened. He wasn't accustomed to being frustrated, and it showed.

"Then I'll attack the bastards in their homes! I'll renew the destruction of the Shinjuku ghetto! I'll…"

I rolled my eyes.

"You'll do nothing of the sort. Tokyo can't run without Elevens. Besides, that would only disperse them. Right now, you've got a single nest. Do you really want twenty or thirty smaller hives?"

Clovis leaned back in his chair again and started rapidly clicking a ballpoint pen.

"Twenty or thirty small hives wouldn't be able to pull off what the terrorists did yesterday," he replied.

"They wouldn't need to," I said. "As long as they remain alive, the population believes that the terrorists are invincible and you're powerless."

Clovis jerked back as if I'd struck him. "Powerless" is a taboo word in the Britannian royal family. (Unless you're talking about underlings, of course. We like powerless underlings as much as the next man).

"You seem to have all the answers. So talk."

I took a deep breath to give the impression that I was recommending this course of action only because worst had come to worst.

"Major-General Lord Barclay."

"No."

Clovis got up, paced behind his desk a few times, and slammed his hands into the wood.

"No," he said again.

"I know that he's difficult…"

He laughed harshly.

"Difficult? _Difficult?_ The man's Colonel Blimp and General Jubilation P. Cornpone rolled into one right-wing xenophobic package. He makes the Purists look like integrationists."

"He's not as bad as all that—"

Clovis stopped me with a raised hand.

"No, Lelouch. He's _worse_ than that. The man built a rogue Buddhist militia in Thailand _after_ the Sino-Britannian Accords ended the fighting there."

"To be fair, his irregulars technically weren't party to that treaty."

"He didn't support Dad during the Succession War."

"So? He didn't support Uncle Frederick either, may he rest in peace."

"Do you have any idea how many riots I'd have on my hands if I let this guy loose? We can't turn Area Eleven into another Brazil."

"Oh come off it, Clovis. We both know you're not squeamish. Why not come clean with your _real_ objection to the man?"

Clovis drew himself up to his full height and sneered.

"Very well then. The man is a peasant. A _parvenu_.It's disgusting to see him wave the lordship Father gave him in the face of polite society. I refuse to deal with such a person."

Just as I suspected. In my experience, there are two levels of stupidity: basic, and snobbery-enhanced.

"Yeah? And what did he do to earn that title? Remember?"

_That_ shut Clovis up for a while. Finally, he slumped in his chair and gave a feeble little wave with his hand.

"Brazil was much worse than Japan," he said.

"So far," I replied.

It only took a few more minutes of cajoling before he gave up the ghost. He was pretty deflated by the time I left him to his next visitor—a serious-looking Eleven policeman.

Bando something-or-other.

* * *

I spent the rest of the evening testing the Geass power to work the bugs out. In the process, I learned two very useful things. First, Geass only seemed to work once—a fact that would seriously limit its usefulness. It was a fortunate discovery, and I could have gotten myself into a lot of hot water if I hadn't known that ahead of time. Second, Geass didn't work on nonhumans—or at least none of the nonhumans that I ran across during my trip to the zoo. No prizes for guessing what that implied about Lucy.

Interestingly, my cherry-haired little psychopath didn't show up on Clovis's database. That could imply several things, but the most likely explanation was that Clovis had been experimenting on her without Dad's permission. That would explain his rush to destroy the Shinjuku ghetto when he'd found out that she'd escaped.

"Penny for your thoughts, Brother."

I only _just_ managed to close my laptop in time.

"Taken any stealth lessons from Sayoko recently?" I said.

Nunnally graced me with a beatific smile and flopped onto the couch.

"I'm certainly better at concealing my secrets than you are," she said.

I raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you didn't approve of secrecy."

"Nope, I just keep my secretiveness secret. My friends would get annoyed otherwise."

She batted her eyelashes and did her best impression of a femme fatale's smirk. We spent the next couple seconds trying not to laugh.

_I wonder, though…_

"All right, Lelouch," she said at last. "I won't ask you what you were looking at. Could you at least tell me what's been on your mind all evening?"

"Clovis is an idiot," I said.

"Oh…Well, it's a good thing he's not around to hear you say that," she said.

"He wanted to level the Shinjuku ghetto, Nunnally."

She sat up and crossed her legs. 'Barbarian sitting', the Elevens call it.

"I'm not surprised. Clovis never cared much about subject peoples," she said.

"But it's so _stupid_!" I said. "If he thinks that his television playacting is going to compensate for leveling part of Tokyo…"

She raised her hand and gently put it to my lips.

"Lelouch, you're a brilliant guy—even by our family's standards—but I think you see things too much like a game of chess. No, please don't argue yet. Hear me out…I'm not a political wizard like you and Cornelia and Schniezel, but I know something that all of you sometimes forget. Princes and princesses don't always choose the most rational course. Even Britannian princes. Even you. They choose the course that matches their disposition."

Then she removed her hand and skipped off to the kitchen to get us some more tea. It was a far cry from the brown sludge Clovis had given me, and I decided to turn my mind off for the evening and talk about lighter stuff. We had a wonderful time.

But I never forgot that conversation. It's been some of the best advice I've ever received—in politics _or_ life—and that's why I've decided to include it in these memoirs.

* * *

Karen Stadtfeld, _née _Kallen Kozuki. Half Japanese on her mother's side. Born March 29, 2000 a.t.b. Seventeen years old. Possibly a terrorist.

Clovis's database was missing that last crucial piece of information. Therefore, so was I. I needed to be certain, and to do that I needed to get close enough to her to use a Geass command. Fortunately, it's very bad manners to refuse a prince when he's offered to help you with your homework—even a low-ranking one like me.

"So again: what are the main causes of the fall of the Bonaparte dynasty?"

"Do you want the textbook answer or the real one?" I asked.

Kallen clenched her jaw. This was the third hour of our little review session, and her meek, sickly mask seemed to be cracking a little. It didn't help that I spent the time being deliberately evasive.

She caught herself just in time and wrenched her mouth into a smile.

"Why not give me the textbook answer first?"

"The textbook answer is that the dynasty lost its luster after the rise of large-scale factories and the proletariat. It was a late-Enlightenment dictatorship caught in the middle of rapid modernization."

"Sounds good enough for me," she said. She looked down and rapidly scribbled notes in the most appalling handwriting I'd ever seen. And she was a girl, too.

"Yeah, I guess it's an OK answer," I said. "…If you want to be boring and wrong, that is."

From under the table, I heard the loud _snap_ of wood fiber and graphite.

"Okay, then what's the _real_ answer, Prince Lelouch?"

"Just 'Lelouch' is fine. 'Lulu' if you're feeling flippant."

I could almost hear her teeth grinding. I wondered what sort of Geass she would have received if she'd been the one to meet C.C. instead of me, and concluded that 'Death Glare' was a good bet.

"Er…anyway…the _right_ answer is that the Bonaparte dynasty pinned its hopes on popular government. See, Napoleon Junior forgot that daddy's regime only _pretended_ to be democratic. It was actually a lot more like Britannia—it relied on the support of a pretty small sector of the population. As soon as he allowed the poor to start holding office, he pissed off the landowners, Marshals, _and_ the middle classes. Cue right-wing backlash. Cue left-wing revolution. Endgame."

"You talk about these guys as if you're on speaking terms with them," she said.

"Technically, I'm a distant relative."

I grinned. She didn't reciprocate.

"Makes you wonder what would have happened if the Britannian Emperor had been as short-sighted as Napoleon II two hundred years ago," she said.

"Probably nothing," I said. "Just like most 'what if' questions."

By now, the library was finally empty.

_Showtime._

"Answer all of my questions."

Bright red rings appeared around her pupils as soon as I activated the Geass. Her body stiffened like a board.

"Of course, Your Majesty," she said.

"Okay, I'll be blunt: Are you a terrorist?"

"Yes."

"Were you the Glasgow pilot in Shinjuku?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh…Well, you're pretty good at it."

It occurred to me that it was pretty pointless to compliment a soon-to-be-amnesiac girl under mind control. Oh well.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"You're welcome. Now then…"

I swiveled my laptop around until it was facing her.

"I want you to type the names of all of your associates, along with any other information that might help me find them. Phone numbers, addresses, personality quirks, and their positions in your organization. And while you're doing that, I want to know if you find me attractive."

I know what you're thinking, and it's not true. Please understand that this was purely business. I didn't need the complications of a real relationship.

"I don't know," she said. "You're pretty good looking, but you're also arrogant, obnoxious, and snarky. Oh, and your bangs are much too long. Kinda girly, actually."

Involuntarily, my hands shot to my well-coiffured hair. All things considered, I was glad that she'd forget this in a few minutes.

"Good enough to go on a date with?" I asked.

"I guess if I was desperate, sure."

_Ack._

"If it was part of a mission?"

I swear she hesitated for a moment.

"Yes."

"Good. Let's assume that I wanted to get your attention. Romantically. What would be the best way to go about it?"

"Show an interest in the plight of the Japanese people. And stop calling us Elevens."

_Excellent._

I flicked the laptop shut as soon as she entered the last keystroke.

* * *

A few hours later, I found Lucy curled up in front of the kitchen sink, crying. The food processer roared and grated nothing in particular. I'd heard it when I was fifty feet from the cabin, so it must have been on for a while.

"What's wrong?"

A mustard jar that had been floating in midair before I spoke crashed to the floor.

"Lelouch?"

That deadened voice again.

"I'm here. What is it?"

I suppressed the urge to hug her. Too much affection too soon would probably spoil her—and make her suspicious. Instead, I put my hand on her shoulder like I had at the pet store.

_You slimy bastard, _you're probably thinking. To which I retort: _If_ she'd been a normal girl, I would have been as carelessly affectionate as she liked…but she wasn't. Telekinetic powers change the dynamics a little.

_Please, please don't turn out to be high-maintenance._

"What's wrong, Lucy?"

"I…I don't deserve you."

This to a guy who ordered her to kill a trainload of people on the first day she met him.

"That's not true. Look, I'm not exactly an angel either, OK? Whatever you've done in the past…"

She started sobbing. In the living room, the TV blared the credits of a soap opera.

"I can't accept this charity from you," she said. "Not after what I've done."

_And just what DID you do?!_ I wanted to scream. Still keeping my hand on her shoulder, I picked up the dustpan and started brushing up the glass shards.

"Look, let's be reasonable," I said. "You don't have anywhere to else to go, and it's not as if you're freeloading or anything. I _want_ you to stay."

A tearful eye looked up at me from beneath her dyed bangs.

"Really?"

"Really."

"I could always go back to the facility. They would…punish…me, but I think—"

"You will _not_," I snapped. Mostly because she obviously wanted me to...which is not to say that her offer was insincere.

"Look, enough of this. Do you want to go on a walk?" I asked.

"I didn't think you liked walks." Was that the ghost of a smile on her lips?

I smiled and bowed my head a little to acknowledge the point.

"You know," I said, "when I was a kid, I helped out in an antiterrorist campaign in Brazil. Not much. Little stuff. Staff jobs, that kind of thing."

She was still kneeling on the floor with her hands crossed over her lap, like a third grader during storytime. To this day, I've never met a better listener than Lucy.

"_Ahem_...Anyway, I had the opportunity to interview a lot of captured terrorists. They wouldn't reveal much about their leaders, but the less intelligent ones loved to talk about how they operated. And you know what they all agreed was a useful skill to have?"

"Walking?"

"Right."

"That's…fascinating."

And you know something? She actually meant it.

Sweet girl.

"Lucy, did I ever tell you about how Napoleon II lost his throne?"


	3. Turn 3: Still Lelouch

**Chapter 3: Lelouch**

_I'm two years old. Mommy's reading me a story. It's a detective story with a child who solves mysteries. I don't like it much. It's boring, and I want the bad guy to win. Bad guys are always more interesting._

_Father interrupts us. He wants to play a game with me. I'm really happy about that; Father doesn't do stuff with me very much. It's different from the other games he's played with me, like the one with the little men and the world map where you need to conquer countries to win._

_The game board's all checkered, like clown pants. The pieces look really cool and Medieval and mysterious. They're like my toy soldiers, except that they're black and white. They wouldn't be good in a wargame. Father has a bigger set in his room that he doesn't let me see much. The pieces in the bigger game are painted—Bengalis and Britannian soldiers. I want to be a Britannian officer when I grow up._

_We play. I'm losing._

_I don't like losing. I get all mopey and don't want to finish the game. What's the point? I let him take my knight. Just to spite him. He looks at Mommy and complains about "her son". She tells me to stop sulking and acting like a toddler._

_I'm __not__ a toddler. I'm a Britannian prince. I start crying. Father swats me on the head and tells me to stop. I do, but I'm angry and blushing with embarrassment. I hate him. How dare he treat me like this?_

_

* * *

_

_I'm ten years old. By now, I'm good enough at chess that I don't have to throw fits anymore. I've also learned enough to know that angering father is a rather bad idea. Not that he plays with me anymore, mind you._

_I've brought home a visitor tonight—another child I've found in the palace courtyard. There's something peculiar about her, but the memory is vague and I can't see her face. Her back is facing me, and all I can see is her green wool cap._

_Is it just me, or does something feel ominous?_

_

* * *

_

I woke up cursing the hot sauce and nachos I'd eaten the night before. I don't often get the opportunity to look back on my childhood—a fact for which I'm truly thankful. It was already morning.

Looking back on it now, I can't exactly claim that Dad was rotten to me. Neglectful, sure…but I'd deserved the smack he'd given me. Without it, I might never have dedicated myself to my favorite game. His early coaching would come in handy during my power grab. Besides, he'd been right: Britannian princes _never_ play to lose.

And while I don't have any warm gooey feelings for the old bastard, I have to admit that he probably got more anxiety than solace from his numerous children--myself included. We may have been bright and reasonably well-behaved, but we weren't what you'd call a _normal_ family. It almost makes me feel sorry for those among my ancestors whose sons were depraved wackos—roughly 17% of the royal line, or so the geneticists tell me.

As to the second memory, I try not to dwell on that particular time in my life.

In spite of my best efforts, though, my thoughts drew back to that angry little boy of ten, with his fiery eyes and unstinting hatred of the world that had killed his mother. That morning, I broke my own rule and allowed myself to wonder what might have been. What if I hadn't felt the inexplicable sense of guilt the night my mother died? What if I'd confronted my father as I'd dreamed of doing?

What if that angry, bitter little boy had left the royal family?

I pictured a different version of myself. A version that hadn't learned a sense of proportion and humility from the years of surviving court politics. He'd be harsher; his sarcasm would lack my habit of self-deprecation. He'd be less cautious, too—being his own man would've given him more time to indulge in megalomania. I shuddered to think of the grotesque proportions my theatricality would have blossomed into if left unchecked. Worst of all, he'd be an idealist. In the beginning, at least.

I doubted that he'd be more ruthless.

After my walk down memory lane, I stretched my sleepy muscles and got dressed. The customary morning shower could wait until after my workout.

Yes, you read that right: workout.

* * *

I was cornered. I'd tried to keep to the outside, but my opponent was too good for me. He'd slowly cut off the space between us, using angles until I had nowhere left to run. I tried to spin out of the corner, but my Sutherland's movements weren't fast enough. My opponent sprang out of his wrestler's crouch and shot for my leg. I felt a lurch in my stomach as my knightmare tipped over and slammed into the ground, back first. I tried to pull myself free and felt him wrap around my leg. With a small twist, he could disable the foot.

"That's one-nothing," Jeremiah said. "Try again."

I kept away from him, every so often flicking my left into his face—he dodged them all, naturally. He was considerate enough _not_ to shoot at my legs from the outside, and it took him a little longer to get at me this time.

Don't get me wrong: I'm no Jerry Quarry. My footwork was pretty clumsy despite the six-plus years I'd been doing it—though admittedly, I hadn't started applying myself until a week ago.

My stomach lurched again as Jeremiah planted me on my face.

"Is it _really_ necessary to work on hand-to-hand combat before we get to weapons?" I asked.

Jeremiah sighed and lifted his fifty ton bulk off of me.

"Yes, Prince Lelouch. The movements you use for weapons are essentially the same that you use barehanded."

The face on my viewscreen relented a little as Jeremiah allowed himself a thin smile.

"I think we've had enough practice for today. Care to join me for lunch, Your Majesty?"

I really would have liked to. He may be about as subtle as an elephant in a speedo, but there's no one in the world I'd rather have at my back in a firefight than Jeremiah Gottwald. I've known my share of loyal people. Some, like the Black Knights, are loyal out of stupidity. Others—Suzaku especially—have an erratic kind of loyalty that can change in an instant with their fluctuating codes of honor. And then there's Lord Jeremiah's brand of loyalty: absolute and unflinching. I liked him.

Unfortunately, I had to decline his offer. Places to go, bombings to plan, that kind of thing. But I had a question before I left.

"Jeremiah, I've been wondering about something."

"I'm all ears, Majesty."

"I've been speaking with Lloyd recently about experimental Knightmare designs, and he says there's no technical reason why we couldn't build Knightmares with four or six arms. Why don't we, then?"

"Begging your pardon, Prince Lelouch, but the answer seems obvious enough. Humans only have two arms and two legs. We'd never be able to control the remaining four because our brains aren't wired that way. You'd have to be an octopus."

"Of course. How silly of me."

I slung my towel over my shoulder and headed for the showers.

* * *

Kallen and her fellow terrorists paced through endless lines of boxes, still too stunned to say anything. I'd scared the living daylights out of them by calling them simultaneously—but at least that indicated that I wasn't working with Britannian intelligence. The Security Chancellery wouldn't have bothered to call before rounding them all up. The terrorists' boots echoed off the concrete walls as they sloshed through the half-flooded subway tunnel. Even if it _hadn't_ been the only place safe from Britannian surveillance, the ambience would have been too tempting to pass up. It just screamed _Phantom of the Opera_.

Water dripped onto my helmet. I wiped it off.

I'd turned the tunnel into a terrorist's idea of FAO Schwartz. Picture, if you will: Fifty Knightmare frames stacked against the wall. Crates upon crates of submachine guns, all of them modified for semiautomatic fire to prevent overeager recruits from wasting ammunition. I'd geassed half the gunsmiths in Tokyo for that particular job. Hand grenades. Smoke bombs to cover withdrawals. .38-caliber revolvers. Enough equipment to set up firearms repair shops in basements throughout Shinjuku. Airguns for practice. Dynamite. I'd even acquired a few small Knightmare simulators.

"No assault rifles?"

That was Tamaki. The stupid one.

"Too bulky," I said. "Leave the Armalites and FALs to the Britannians."

And then there was the subtler stuff: a crate full of partisans' manuals from the Second Grand War that I'd spent a week translating into Japanese. Regional fashion magazines, showing what people were wearing all over Japan so that they could blend in with the locals. A list of locations where minimal Britannian surveillance would allow them to set up training camps. And last but not least…

"What's this?" Ohgi asked.

"Read it and see."

He opened the manila folder and started leafing through its neat, newly-printed pages.

"Where did you get this?"

I smiled, my excuse all ready.

"The Britannian military keeps dossiers on 'at risk' citizens—Numbers whose skills would make them a threat to if they were recruited by resistance movements. You'll find everybody you need there: electricians, telephone workers, cartographers, doctors, former soldiers, gunsmiths, chemists…oh, and forgers. It's my understanding that your Black Knights organization has trouble faking Britannian documents. And call me Zero."

Ohgi looked up at me, a little confused.

"Sorry…You said 'Black Knights' organization?"

"That's what I've decided to call you," I said. "I hope you don't mind. I've already made T-shirts."

"Who do you think you are?" Tamaki's voice shouted from across the tunnel. "We're not following some no-named masked dude."

"Then you should probably stop playing Robot Wars in _my_ simulator," I said.

Tamaki quickly switched off the optional gaming system and jumped out of the seat. He smiled sheepishly at his comrades before continuing.

"Okay, so you've got some cool toys. I'm still not gonna listen to you until you lose the mask."

"I'll do more than that," I said. "Kallen Kozuki, it's my understanding that you're being courted by Prince Lelouch vi Britannia. Is that correct?"

She blushed and staggered back.

"Yes, I…wait, how did _you_ know? And what business is it of yours?"

I ignored her question.

"He's offered you a date tonight," I said.

"I turned it down," she replied heatedly. "And I still want to know how you—"

"You will call him back and accept," I said. "Oh, and wear one of those cute blue velvet dresses. I hear he likes those."

I turned to the rest of the newly-christened Black Knights.

"For my next trick, I'll need one more assistant…"

* * *

As soon as I'd finished briefing the group, I made my way into one of the subsidiary tunnels. Another Zero was waiting for me.

"Lucy, you think you can finish up here? I need to give a lecture in half an hour."

Her mask snapped in my direction.

"Don't worry," my synthesized voice replied through her mask. "I won't kill anyone…yet."

"Including Kallen?" I said.

She ran her glove across the purple ceramic faceplate and turned away from me. A sigh escaped from the synthesizer.

"As long as you're telling me the truth about how far you'll go with her. I'm sorry, Lelouch, but I just can't lose you again…"

I held up a hand and she fell silent.

"Lucy, would I ever lie to you?"

Another robotic sigh.

"I guess not," she said.

"Well there you have it, then."

Her body relaxed a hair and she turned to face me again.

"What's the subject of your lecture?" she asked.

"Counterterrorism."

* * *

I surveyed the crowd. Fifty eager pairs of Britannian eyes and ears waited for me to continue. Elite graduates of Britannia's best military schools. Fortunately, they were still young enough that they could unlearn their training and begin anew.

_Ah, but I love a good audience._

I cleared my throat and began pacing across the black-and-white checkerboard floor.

"And I quote: 'Warfare is now an interlocking system of actions--political, economic, psychological, military--that aims at the _overthrow of the established authority in a country and its replacement by another regime_.'" I emphasized the last phrase.

"'To achieve this end, the aggressor tries to exploit the internal tensions of the country attacked--ideological, social, religious, economic. In short, any conflict liable to have a profound influence on the population to be conquered… Moreover, from a localized conflict of secondary origin and importance, they will always attempt sooner or later to bring about a generalized conflict.'"

I stopped reading and snapped the book shut.

"So much for Roger Trinquier. The bottom line is this: the Elevens' rebellion may seem like a policing problem right now, but it has worldwide implications. If we don't crush it—and quickly—we might see Chinese or EU intervention."

I looked across the sea of gold braid and white uniforms and noted with satisfaction that they were nodding in unison. Stolid military professionalism personified. _Very_ good.

"This, boys and girls, is a _very_ different war from the ones you've been trained for. It's not conventional, and it's not quite a guerrilla war like the one that some of you have been fighting in Katanga."

A few of them shifted nervously in their seats. I quickly took note of their faces for later use. These were the people who'd probably had the most experience with this sort of thing.

"Our battleground is one that most Britannians don't usually care about: the mind of the average Japanese."

I received a lot of puzzled looks. Fifty square jaws slackened in disbelief.

"That's right," I said. "_Japanese_. Not Elevens. Admittedly, imperial policy prohibits us from referring to them as Japanese in public, but you will instruct your men to refrain from using epithets like 'filthy Elevens' and the like."

A brave young man in the front raised his hand. I'd earned a reputation in Brazil for accepting polite criticism when most royals would have ordered the offender flogged. Apparently, my reputation hadn't evaporated in the last few years.

"Your Majesty, my apologies for asking, but…why?"

"Because, Colonel…Acton, is it? Yes? Good. Because when you use racial slurs, you annoy _all _of the Japanese within hearing distance. If you want to insult them, make it personal."

"But why…?"

I rubbed my temples.

"Because every '_Eleven'_ household is a potential harbor for terrorists," I said. "These people are fighting for the average Japanese civilian on the street. Most of us are careerists who couldn't care less whether we fight against Japanese or South Africans."

I raised my hand and snapped my fingers a few times.

"Quick!—anybody. What did Mao Zedong say about the relationship between guerrillas and the civilian population?"

More puzzled looks.

"Your Majesty, who's Mao Zedong?"

Oh. Right.

"Obscure Chinese guerrilla leader. He lead the Hunan Harvest Uprising against the Emperor in the 80's a.t.b.. Did a real demolition job on Imperial forces before they tracked him down and beheaded him."

Still no looks of recognition.

"Okay, forget it. I'll just give you the quote: 'the people are to a guerrilla as water is to a fish.'".

_Now_ the glimmer of understanding started to appear.

"Our target isn't a couple of disorganized terrorists," I continued. "It's an _organization_. _That's_ what we need to target. We need to go after the Japanese Liberation Front."

"How do we do that, Your Majesty?"

I grinned.

"We dry up the water."

* * *

Evening. Ten minutes till zero hour.

I shuffled a hunk of American cheese back and forth across the cheese grater. Kallen would be arriving for our "date" soon—note the quotation marks—and the salad was only half finished.

"Brother, I need to talk to you about something."

I looked up from my work and noted that Nunnally had already finished applying her makeup.

"Can't it wait until you get back, Nunners?"

You see, I wasn't the only vi Britannia with a romantic engagement that evening. I'd chosen the time carefully—in a couple minutes, Nunnally would be going out for ice cream with a boy from her class. Osric Ranken, born August 15, 2003 a.t.b. Stupid little snot, from what I could tell, but trustworthy enough.

I twisted the peppermill a couple times and watched from the corner of my eye as Nunnally's brows knitted together.

"It's a wonder that Osric's coming at all, with the way you've treated him!"

I gently ladled a spoonful of salad dressing into the bowl and started chopping another head of lettuce.

"My dear sister, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The phone taps?" she said. "The surveillance?"

"It was for your own protection, Nunners."

I smiled as sweetly as I could and searched the upper shelf of the pantry until I found something that I'd been hiding for emergencies.

"Cookie?"

She ignored the proffered treat and barreled ahead.

"Was it really necessary to have his house searched?"

"Absolutely," I said.

"_Five_ times?"

I stuck my fork into the salad and took a taste. It definitely needed more lemon.

"You sure? They're chocolate chip."

I held the cookie out and checked for any signs of appeasement. No luck. Ah, well. It was worth a try.

"I just really care about you, Nunnally. Besides, it comes with the territory when you're a Britannian princess. You should know that by now."

Nunnally crossed her arms and glared at me.

"Brother, I can understand the surveillance and the background checks. I can even understand the paranoid searches. But there's _no_ excuse for sending Jeremiah Gottwald along as an escort."

I stopped slicing tomatoes for a second and imagined how the scene would play out:

* * *

_Osric__ (taking Nunnally's hand): "I had a great time tonight, Nunnally."_

_Nunnally__ (beaming): "Me too, Osric."_

_Jeremiah Gottwald__: "Okay, that's enough! Hands off the Princess."_

_Osric__: "But…I mean…isn't that what you're supposed to do--?"_

_Jeremiah__: *click*_

_Osric __(eyes bugging out): "Whoah, wait a minute!"_

_Nunnally__: "Jeremiah! Put your gun down this instant!"_

_Osric__ (laughing nervously): "He's kidding, right?"_

_Jeremiah__: "Wanna find out, ya little date rapist?"_

_Nunnally__: "Lord Jeremiah, he's fourteen years old."_

_Jeremiah__: "Gimme a reason, punk. Just gimme a reason..."_

_

* * *

_

"Nunnally, I'm sure he'll be just fine."

The doorbell rang. My breath caught in my throat for a moment until I realized that it was Osric. Nunnally scampered to the door like a kid on Christmas morning, our tiff temporarily forgotten.

Good. She'd be out of the house by the time Kallen arrived.

* * *

Kallen was punctual—a good sign. She looked very fetching in her little blue dress…probably because she wasn't covered in blood and motor oil or pretending to be an invalid. I laid out some paper plates and plastic sporks.

"Care to sit down, Karen?"

I pulled out a seat. She cast a skeptical glance at the plastic cutlery before sitting down.

"You know, for a Britannian prince you're sorta—"

"Frugal?" I guessed.

"Cheap," she said.

I chuckled and started unscrewing a bottle of wine. By now, you probably know enough about my physical fitness to guess that it was pretty slow going.

"My father used to say that a dollar saved gives you more credit than ten spent," I said.

"So the Emperor's cheap too?"

Her mask was slipping much faster tonight than it had earlier. Which probably meant…

"Nervous?" I asked.

She almost jumped from her seat.

"Wha--? No! Of course not."

"Glad to hear it. And to answer your question, the Emperor isn't frugal _anymore_."

Before Kallen could pursue that cryptic answer further, Sayoko popped in and apologized that the veal was taking so long. I nodded and said that it was all right. She disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Is she your only servant, or does your frugality only extend to crockery?" Kallen asked.

_Trying to figure out my security arrangements, eh? Very good, Kallen._

"Yep, she's all we have. And you'll be happy to know that we pay her quite well."

Kallen toyed with a steak knife, bouncing it a few times in her hand to feel the weight distribution.

"How generous," she said.

"Actually, it's Nunnally's fault. I keep telling her that spoiled servants leave you in the lurch the minute you stop rewarding them like that, but she doesn't listen."

"I should have known," she muttered.

"What?"

"I…er…What did you mean when you said that the Emperor's not frugal anymore?"

She leaned forward and perched her head on her fingertips, the picture of rapt attention. If I didn't know any better…Ah, but I _did_ know better.

"Have you ever wondered why the Britannian stock market is so volatile?" I replied.

"Um...I always thought it was just normal business cycles. Supply and demand and all that stuff."

I chuckled a little at that. She asked, in a tone dripping with fraying self-control, what was so funny.

"My dear Miss Stadtfeld, there's nothing _normal_ about Britannian business cycles. The alternating booms and crashes come from a very specific cause. Us."

Kallen's eyes suddenly widened as the light of realization dawned on her. Or at least she thought it had. Actually, she was a little off.

"The Britannian monarchy is manipulating the economy?"

I shook my head.

"Nothing so grand. Just a hobby for few members of the royal family—mostly minor ones like me. Technically, the geneticists designed us for enhanced skill at public administration. In reality, those talents have other applications."

"Market speculation," she said.

"Correct."

"No wonder you save your money, with those kinds of rewards. So why doesn't the Britannian Emperor do it anymore?" she asked.

I admit to being a little surprised that she'd needed to ask. Most Britannian noblewomen would know the answer instinctively. Then again, she _was_ half Japanese...

"Because a nobleman shouldn't involve himself in trade," I said. "It's simply not appropriate once you've become a public figure. _Laesi populi_ and all that. We usually have to quit sometime around our eleventh or twelfth birthdays. I stayed in the game a little longer because I didn't have a political career."

She seemed to be deep in thought. Suddenly, her mouth gaped and she leaned rapidly across the table, bumping her hands on the surface with a loud _thud_.

…and now you know another reason why I decided not to use my best china.

"So the Great Crash of '03 came from—"

"Clovis. Yes. Dad almost disinherited him for that little stunt."

_She's cleverer than I thought._

I heard a body collapse near the front door. Must have been something he'd eaten. Just goes to show that you shouldn't accept food from strangers—even royal ones that you're supposed to be guarding. Not that the rules of etiquette gave him any choice…

Kallen leaned closer and smiled.

"Hey, that's pretty impressive. I hear that you guys can tell the future, too."

Another thump. Another lifeless body hitting the ground.

"What, you mean Social Physics?" I asked.

The third and final body collapsed. So much for my protection. Without meaning to, I let my gaze drift to the front door.

"Lelouch," she snapped. My head jerked back to the girl sitting across the table from me.

"I thought I'd lost you for a moment," she said with a smile. So, she was trying to play it off as if nothing happened. I made a mental note that her acting skills deteriorated under pressure. Then again, mine were none-too-firm at the moment either.

_What were we talking about again?_

"Oh…right. Um…Social Physics. That's more of a myth, actually. Any reasonably intelligent person has about as much chance of guessing the future as my relatives do—which is to say pretty much no chance at all. Too much uncertainty."

By now, I could hear muffled voices outside the door. Elevens' voices.

…Excuse me. _Japanese_ voices.

As I forced myself to continue smiling and talking to the cute terrorist across the table, I admit that I was beginning to get worried. I'd planned this for a while, but here's the thing: planning isn't very helpful. You can churn out "if X, then I'll do Y" contingencies until your face turns blue, but what usually happens is that D and W blindside you with F, G, and H. Then again, I've always suspected that Murphy's Law has a special grudge against me.

"Anything wrong, Lelouch?"

I gulped and shook my head.

"I hope not," Kallen said softly. "You wouldn't want to spoil our date."

A massive _bang_ at the front door interrupted us. A masked man with a sledgehammer had smashed the area near the lock into splinters. I bolted for the stairs as soon as the door swung open, running across the table and past a very surprised Kallen Kozuki. Unfortunately, I only got halfway there before she kicked my legs out from under me and I toppled headfirst onto the flannel rug.


	4. Turn 4: Lucy, finally

**Chapter 4: Lucy**

It wasn't until I met Lelouch that I realized how good a shower could feel. For one thing, they're a lot better when they're not applied with a fire hose. As my muscles loosened, I noticed for the first time that I had a real flesh-and-blood body. The first time I'd seen myself in the mirror after my escape, I was shocked. Years of atrophy and neglect had left me standing like a limp marionette. During my years in the facility, I'd relied entirely on my vectors. It was less painful that way—I'd learned to dissociate from my body. The change had happened roughly around the time they started lobbing metal objects at me during their "experiments".

Unfortunately, the stream of warm water running down my body was also a sign that I was slipping. Softening. A month ago, I wouldn't have needed a shower to relax. Then again, I hadn't needed to worry about anybody a month ago. Now I had Lelouch. I needed to keep strong for his sake.

Screw it. I was going to enjoy this shower.

"Lucy vi Britannia," I said to myself. I rolled the words across my tongue and knew that I liked their taste. Then I sighed and inhaled the thick, steamy air. A glob of body wash got in my eyes, but it barely stung at all. I didn't have a care in the world. As stress relievers go, showers were much less risky than killing people.

But I'd done that too. Oh, yes. The night Lelouch told me that his plan involved dating that half-caste human bitch, I'd nearly lost it. I couldn't take it out on Lelouch—I'd _never_ take that chance again—so instead I smiled through my tears and spent the rest of the night dismembering the assorted petty crooks and hookers that hung out in Tokyo's seedier districts.

Even that didn't help much.

Did Lelouch see anything in Kallen? He'd said he didn't. Would he lie to me?

_He lies to everyone else_, a voice said. _Why wouldn't he lie to a freak like you?_

"Because I'm different," I whispered, and hoped it was true.

The Kozuki girl was thin, despite her ample chest. I caught myself pinching my own legs, making sure that my rich diet since my escape hadn't fattened me. I was relieved to find that my superior genes had saved me once again—if anything, I'd gained a little muscle.

Was it her devil-may-care personality that he admired? That, at least, I _knew_ I couldn't match. I'd never had that kind of fire, even as a child. If it came down to personality, I'd just have to kill her.

_He's lying to you just like the girl from the orphanage did._

I sank to my knees and clutched my horns. My body convulsed a few times as I tried to fight the rising sobs.

_Poor Lucy. Why can't she just be normal?_

"Lelouch isn't normal either," I answered to nobody in particular. "He's posthuman just like me. He told me so."

_…And you believed him._

"Yes."

_Stupid girl._

"That's me."

_And if he agrees to live with you and sleep with you and marry you, what then? When all your little heart desires comes to pass, what will happen? _

"Shut up," I moaned. "Shut up. Shut up!"

_You'll follow your genes, of course. Infect other humans. Make more silpelits. Repeat as necessary. And in a few years, one of Lelouch's children will kill him and the world will belong to the diclonii._

"Please stop."

_Look, but don't touch,_ the voice taunted. _What irony. What __glorious__ irony!_

The world is a sick joke, and I'm its punchline.

Why _did_ he care for me, anyway? I tried to imagine what it had been like for Lelouch all those years ago. I pictured him watching me as I sat down near the tree where I'd buried my dog. Had he been a genius even back then? From what I remembered, yes. Not as smart as he was now, but smarter than I'd ever be. Did he already have adult emotions? Come to think of it, what did adult emotions feel like?

I tried to picture myself in his shoes—as a brilliant little boy without a care in the world. A prince with a new friend whose horns were cool. What had he felt when I'd ripped his mother away from him? I searched my own life for a parallel, but the closest I could come up with was the day that the little monsters at the orphanage killed my dog. Was that what it felt like to lose a mother?

No, probably not. What then?

I flipped through a life of painful memories and found nothing that would help me. I'd always been alone. I'd never experienced the loss of a loved one. A horrible thought occurred to me: What if I lost _Lelouch_? Would _that_ be what it felt like to lose a parent? I imagined what I'd do to someone who took him away from me and I shuddered. If I'd caused him that kind of pain, he'd never forgive me. He'd use me and discard me like rubbish.

And I'd deserve it, too.

I heard a strange noise in the hallway and had a sinking feeling when I remembered that I'd left the door unlocked.

"Zero, are you still in there?"

_Shit! Shitshitshitshitshit…_

I needed to reply, and fast. Where was my voice synthesizer?

I scanned the room. The mask winked back at me from inside a wicker basket on the far end of the room. Another voice mumbled something I couldn't make out.

"I dunno," the first voice replied. "He's been in there a while and he's not answering,"

"Don't come in yet," I ordered. I did my best to deepen my voice.

"You sure you're OK in there? You sound kinda funny".

The door creaked open. Instinctively, I slammed it shut with one of my vectors and left a deep, hand-shaped imprint in the wood.

"Ouch!"

A female voice. Kallen's. I grinned and allowed her cry of pain to wrap around me like a cozy blanket. By now, I'd remembered that I could use my vectors to pick the helmet up. Much as I hated to do it, I gritted my teeth and apologized to her.

See, I'm just _really_ protective of my secret identity. Yeah.

Stupid bitch.

* * *

I came within an inch of killing her again when I saw Lelouch. They brought him back trussed, gagged, and sporting a few bruises on his forehead and chin. There was also a swollen ring around one of his beautiful purple eyes. If he hadn't winked and shot me one of his quick _don't-worry-I'm-fine_ expressions, half of the Japanese resistance would have been coating the floors and walls. As it was, Kallen became very, very clumsy for the next couple hours. I've never seen a girl lose her footing so often.

I chewed them all out as stupid thugs and ordered them from the room. A few gave me weird looks, but they obeyed. Much as it pained me, I waited a full two minutes to make sure nobody was listening before I removed Lelouch's gag. He later congratulated me for my caution, so I guess it was worth it. They were the longest two minutes of my life.

"Lelouch, are you all right?"

He touched the bruise on his forehead experimentally and winced a little.

_Time to die, Kallen…_

And then, to my relief, he smiled.

"I'm a little banged up, but otherwise I'm OK. Believe it or not, this is mostly _my_ fault."

He chuckled at my uncomprehending look.

"I tried to escape by running across a table. It looked convincing, but it was also kinda stupid. It would be rather amusing if someone took a video of it, actually."

I pictured Lelouch tripping off a table and landing on his face.

_Not_ amusing. Notamusing at _all._

"I was so worried about you," I gasped, and hugged him.

"Er…Lucy? The door _is_ locked, isn't it?"

I batted my eyelashes and ran my tongue along my lips like I'd seen girls in the park do with their boyfriends.

"Why? Is there something you'd like to be alone with me for?" I asked in a voice that I hoped was seductive.

I'm not sure what I expected. Probably that he would take me in his arms and hold me and kiss me like there was no tomorrow. Instead, Lelouch's face reddened and he started stammering incoherently.

_What's wrong?_ I wanted to cry._ Are you angry? Have I done something wrong?_

How humiliating.

_Stupid_, I thought. _You watch human couples for a few days and take some notes and expect to understand all the subtle nuances of relationships._

But then Lelouch composed himself again and carefully explained that, while he was very flattered, this probably wasn't the best time or place. I accepted his explanation without too much disappointment. It could have been so much worse.

Was it possible that he was still a virgin like me? No; that couldn't be. He was too attractive and charming and _wonderful_. Unless…Of course! He'd waited for me. That could be it. That _had_ to be it!

"It's almost showtime, Lucy. You'd better get going."

"Oh…right."

Later that night, I followed a couple into a deserted alley, explained my situation, and demanded to know what I'd done wrong with Lelouch. It wasn't much use—neither would answer my questions until I ripped the boyfriend's head off, and after that all I could get out of the girl were screams and sobs. After I killed her, I decided that I'd just have to learn as I went along.

* * *

A couple minutes later, I watched Lelouch's speech on a small television screen. As Zero, he'd set up a command room in the old subway, complete with simultaneous communication links to his entire organization. Now as Prince Lelouch, he'd be addressing the nation through it.

Thanks to the bright white lights in front of his chair, Lelouch's bruises were on prominent display. A good thing, he told me later—it humanized him and presented him as a victim of injustice. I tapped a button. Every television in Tokyo was about to receive some unscheduled programming.

"People of Britannia and Area Eleven," Lelouch began. "Many of you probably don't know me yet. My name is Lelouch vi Britannia. _Prince_ Lelouch; eleventh in line for the Britannian throne. At the moment, I'm being held hostage by a resistance movement calling itself the Black Knights."

He drummed his fingers on the desk in a jerky, irregular rhythm. If I hadn't known better, I'd think he was nervous.

"Hey Zero," Tamaki yelled from across the room. "Message incoming! It's Prince Clovis."

"Put him on."

I negotiated with Clovis for the next couple minutes. It took a lot of effort to remember that this blond, effeminate man was the cause of my years of suffering. Compared to the line of serious-looking Britannian officers behind him, he looked delicate. He even appeared to be genuinely concerned for his brother, which gave me a brief surge of jealousy. Even Lelouch's enemies loved him.

The negotiations were pointless. Really, all I was doing was buying time for Lelouch to finish his speech.

"It has come to my captors' attention that the Britannians governor has brought a counterinsurgency specialist into Area Eleven named Barclay," he said. "This is unacceptable. Barclay is a war criminal. His use of torture in the Katanga and Brazilian conflicts is widely known. Unless torture is suspended in Britannian prisons, they intend to kill me…"

I knew it was just a performance, but I felt a flutter in my stomach when I heard those words.

"…If it _is_ suspended," Lelouch continued, "they would be glad to exchange me for one hundred jailed terrorists."

On the other screen, Clovis went ballistic. Lelouch kept tapping. Then a green-haired man pulled Clovis aside for a moment and whispered something. Lelouch had showed me pictures of that man earlier—Jeremiah Gottwald, Lelouch's knight and chief of security.

"I'd just like to say for the record that I _also _disagree with many of the government's policies," Lelouch said.

Clovis's head suddenly snapped back to the screen. Lelouch kept talking.

"Once this ordeal is over, I'd be glad to reiterate that sentiment publicly. But _violence is not the answer_. The people who follow this 'Zero' are murderers. They aren't the sort of men you need to erect a fair and stable government. When my brother gets me out of this—and I'm sure he will—I'm going to do something that I've been putting off for much too long: I'm reentering politics. People of Japan, _I will be your champion_."

Tamaki's finger hovered over the cutoff switch. I growled that if he cut the feed off, his head would follow. His hands returned to his lap.

It didn't really matter. Lelouch had finished his speech, and in a few minutes the Britannian security forces would close in on the house where we were keeping him and kill the terrorists there. After all, Lelouch had just told the authorities exactly where he was and how many men were guarding him, along with their locations in the room.

Tapping, remember?

* * *

I've never felt so relieved as at the moment when Lelouch showed up on Clovis's command bridge unharmed. He even pretended to gloat when Clovis urged me to surrender. Actually, things were just getting started.

"Broadcast video feed #2," I said.

I heard a flurry of taps and clicks as the technicians behind me hurried to comply. When our image appeared on Clovis's screen, the Third Prince looked like he was ready to have a heart attack. Behind him, Jeremiah took a step back and muttered "impossible". Staring him in the face was a metal half-globe, six feet across with spikes sticking out of it like an old naval mine.

"Prince Clovis!" I yelled. "Congratulations! You've just fallen for our diversion."

I waved my hand over my head in my best Lelouch impression. It must have looked pretty stupid. On the screen, Lelouch rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"Do you recognize that container?" I said.

Clovis nodded.

"And you know what it contains."

Clovis nodded again. I slammed my palms on the table and leaned into the camera.

"Poison gas!" I announced.

Lord Jeremiah tugged at Clovis's shoulder.

"Your highness, I recognize those buildings in the background. He's put that gas container in—"

"—the Britannian military barracks!" Lelouch shouted.

"Correct," I said. "And unless you want me to release the gas, you'll do exactly as I say."

"He thinks it's gas…" Clovis muttered. The wheels in his head were spinning at a hundred miles an hour toward the wrong conclusion.

"Eh?" Lelouch said.

"He thinks it's gas. The fool thinks it's gas! Don't you see? It's a bluff!"

Lelouch raised his eyebrows and frowned.

"I don't know about this, brother. If this turns out to be the real thing…"

"It's not," Clovis said.

Lelouch looked down at the floor and stroked his chin—a skinny seventeen year old standing in a crowd of burly officers while he decided the fate of their comrades-in-arms. Then, after a few moments, he looked up again.

"Don't do this, Clovis," he said. "Give the man what he wants. This isn't worth hundreds of Britannian soldiers' lives."

"It's a bluff, I tell you!"

Lelouch's hands balled into fists. He turned on his heel toward the stenographer in the back of the room.

"You!" he shouted. "I want it noted that Clovis is doing this against my counsel and with my protest."

"Mine as well," Jeremiah added.

Clovis scowled at both of them and paced across the bridge. His silk robe made little whooshing sounds in between the stomps of his high-heeled shoes.

_clack-swish-clack-swish-clack…_

He pointed at the stenographer with a shaking hand.

"And _I _want it noted that I chose to take this action _alone_, when these two old women wanted caution."

For pure smugness, I don't think I've ever seen the equal of the look he gave Jeremiah and Lelouch.

"Congratulations," he said. "You're about to look like idiots on national television. Captain O'Toole, send in the knightmares!"

That smug look lasted another thirty seconds. I know because that's how long we waited before activating the sarin gas tubes.

_Gotcha, you son of a bitch._

* * *

_September 5, 2017_

_Dear Diary,_

_Note to self: Don't ask Lelouch for sex during missions. It makes him uncomfortable. Also, when asking couples for romantic advice, kill the female first next time. The male may not break down crying as quickly._

_--Lucy_

_

* * *

  
_


	5. Turn 5: Lelouch

**Chapter 5: Lelouch**

**

* * *

**

**From:** Euphinator63

**To:** LordByron111

**Subj:** Japan at last!

_Lelouch!!!!11_

_I'm so excited! I just arrived in Japan and I already feel like I'm at home. They said the heat wave was a problem, but I'm just fine. I don't know what they're complaining about. Cornelia just arrived too. She's on a short fuse these days. She's already drawn a pistol on the butler (vintage Cornelia, LOL) and insulted the entire staff. It was pretty awkward to have to sit through all that. Try not to tease her, okay? _

_In other news…I'm going to be sneaking away from my escorts!!! I want to see the __real__ Japan—the Shinjuku ghetto and places like that. They say you're pretty popular with the Japanese these days, so I know I'd be safe. Could you give me a tour?_

_Also, Nunnally introduced me to Arthur today. He's soooooo cute! We meowed at each other for a couple minutes and now we're really great friends. I almost wish I found him first. I'm so JEALOUS! ;-)_

_Tata For Now,_

_Euphie._

_P.S.: Do you still hang out with Suzaku? Bring him along if you can. I really want to meet him again. He was such a cute little kid. 3_

* * *

Sunday. One o'clock in the afternoon. My least favorite day of the week.

When I was growing up, Sunday was the day when all of my friends were busy and I had to fill the time by myself. Usually, that meant an endless pile of homework that my tutors had assigned me the week before.

Now, it was the only day of the week when I was left to my own devices—which is to say, laziness. The day was already bright and muggy and I was still sitting at my computer in my underwear and a purple bathrobe. My muscles ached from the workout the day before. The fact that I hadn't eaten breakfast yet gave them a hollow, tired feeling as a bonus.

Perhaps I was a little depressed. In keeping with my new public persona, I'd spent most of the morning liquidating my holdings in half a dozen nanotech firms. I'd made a pretty good profit—around $10 billion when all was said and done—and anyway, nanotechnology was starting to get profitable enough that new companies were entering the ring. Still, it seemed like the end of an era--as if I was throwing away my security blanket. My investments had been our only means of support after Mom died.

I weighed the pros and cons of ordering the Black Knights to disable the Royal computer system with a cyberterrorist attack. On one hand, it would absorb precious resources and delay my operations against the JLF by almost a week. On the other hand, BritTube was becoming a major drain on my spare time.

Experimentally, I half-rose from my seat.

_Yep. You can still do it. Theory confirmed_.

I sat down again. Business could wait. A stack of unfinished Arabic worksheets taunted me from across the desk. In honor of Cornelia's conquest of Area 18, Ashford Academy had shoved yet _another_ language course down my throat.

_How nerve wracking. Maybe I should sit down for a minute to recover._

To make things worse, I had a training session with Lord Jeremiah later that afternoon. If I didn't eat at least two good meals by then, I'd be in—

RRRIIINNNGG!

"Hello?"

Well what do you know...Lord Jeremiah. He had a duel scheduled with Kewell at five o'clock this evening. I was cordially invited.

"Does this mean we're skipping practice today?" I asked. He just laughed.

"Not on your life, Majesty."

I hung up the phone.

"Well, shit."

* * *

Sunday. Two o'clock in the afternoon.

_I mustn't slacken until I've brought matters to a successful conclusion. I should follow up last month's success with more action. Any other road leads to failure._

I stood up…and sat down again.

* * *

Sunday. Two-thirty in the afternoon.

_The kitchen is so far away…_

I heard footsteps in the hallway. Sayoko, probably. For a ninja, she was pretty noisy …

Of course! How silly of me!

"Sayoko, could you bring some breakfast up?" I called out.

To my delight, the door swung open to reveal a tray piled to the brim with cereal, orange juice, overeasy eggs, pancakes, waffles, toast, jam…

…Lucy…

"Gak!"

Only my extreme caloric deprivation prevented me from jumping when I saw her. I realized in an instant what had happened—she must have used her part-time position as Zero to find my address. Clever little minx. Without missing a beat, she transferred the tray to her vectors and clapped her hands over her mouth.

"Oh Lelouch, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you. It's just that I wanted to see you so much…"

How could I refuse those pleading puppydog eyes? Or the Rottweiler-like threat of hair-trigger violence?

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I'm just a little surprised, that's all."

She removed her hands from her mouth and wrung them a few times in front of her chest.

"Are you _sure_? I don't want to be a bother…"

I smiled magnanimously.

"Well, it _would_ be better for security reasons if we met in the cabin from now on, but I guess it's OK. I know it's difficult when the only person in your life is as busy as I am, but…"

"Of course, Lelouch. I'm sorry…"

She seemed to notice something. Her hands suddenly shot back to her mouth. A rosy little blush appeared on her cheeks and she turned toward the far wall.

"I'm so sorry," she groaned. "I didn't know you were undressed."

"I have a robe on, Lucy. It's fine."

I realized that this was probably more skin than she'd seen from any adult male in her entire life. Well, except her victims…but I was guessing that dismembered corpses didn't elicit _quite_ the same reaction.

"You…must be very hardworking," she managed to get out. She was still turned away from me, tracing the lines of the floral wallpaper with her eyes.

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"To be sitting at your computer in your bathrobe...I mean, without even bothering to change…It shows a lot of dedication."

She twisted her upper body a fraction of an inch in my direction.

"Lelouch, if you don't mind my asking, what were you working on?"

I quickly minimized the BritTube window.

"Er…strategy stuff. Nothing important. Um, Lucy?"

She stiffened and answered like a soldier who'd just been called on by her drill instructor.

"Yes, Lelouch?"

"Care to eat breakfast with me after I get dressed?"

Her shoulders instantly relaxed. She babbled something that amounted to 'yes' and floated out of the room. Literally. I quickly stuffed a blueberry muffin into my mouth and started thinking.

My initial suspicion that she'd killed Sayoko was obviously wrong. For starters, not even Lucy could have taken my ninja-slash-maid down without making some noise. Second, there was a very good reason for Sayoko's absence: For the past couple days, I'd been using her as my liaison to the Black Knights.

A word of advice, by the way: if you're ever involved in a conspiracy and have servants, _use them_. It saves on e-mail traffic and is a lot less traceable. Loyal servants mean much more in the political scheme of things than good genes, and I've often suspected that it's good hired help—not Machiavellian plots, political talent, or nepotism—that has kept us one step ahead of the commoners for so long.

The breakfast was relatively tasty. Lucy's cooking skills didn't hold a candle to Sayoko's, but she'd compensated with stalker-level dedication. Later on, I learned that she'd spent the last few weeks in fourteen-hour-a-day marathon cooking practices. I wasn't feeling all that active, so we ultimately decided to eat in my room. I took the seat by my computer and allowed Lucy to curl up on my bed. She spent the meal hunched over her plate to make sure that no crumbs fell onto the covers.

"Lelouch, what are you planning?" she asked.

I smiled.

"You know, we have a saying in our family…" I said.

"What is it?"

Lucy spoke as if she was sitting under a fig tree waiting for Enlightenment. Far be it from me to disappoint her.

"'If you don't keep your own secrets, nobody will,'" I intoned with mock-seriousness.

She flinched as if I'd slapped her.

"I…I wouldn't tell anyone! I'm sorry I asked. I didn't mean to pry…"

She looked ready to burst into tears. I did a quick calculation and realized that if anyone was immune to the temptation to gossip, it was Lucy. It's hard to share secrets when you hate everybody. Besides, I need an audience like a junkie needs his fix.

"I suppose it couldn't do any harm," I said. "Actually, there isn't much to tell. I'm not big on long-term planning."

"But the way you fooled Clovis—?"

I shook my head.

"That was just a trick. What _you're_ asking about is grand strategy, and like I said: I don't do that stuff. Planning is like a chain—if you're missing a single link, the whole thing falls apart. The longer your plans extend into the future, the greater the chance that you're missing something crucial."

She seemed to digest this for a moment.

"Then what _are_ you doing?" she asked.

"Throwing things into chaos and waiting for opportunities. I haven't made a long-term plan since I was seventeen months old."

Her hand stopped moving halfway between her mouth and the plate.

"Are you teasing me? Sometimes I can't tell."

"Check the top drawer of my desk if you don't believe me," I said.

One of her vectors pulled the drawer open and started shuffling through the clothes. It reminded me of watching a snake wriggle underneath a mat of leaves.

"Left side," I said.

A yellowed, heavily folded piece of paper floated out of the dresser and deposited itself on my desk.

"Could you read it to me?" she asked.

"You can't read English?"

Her gaze fell to the floor.

"I can't read anything."

_Oh…_

"Er, sorry…I could teach you, if you like," I said.

A vector gently ruffled the hair on my forehead.

"That's okay, Lelouch. I'm sure you have better things to do."

I made a mental note to pick up some basic English primers as soon as I got the chance. If anybody asked, I could even tell them the truth—that I knew a Japanese girl who wanted to learn English.

I unfolded my "plan" and smiled inwardly at the misspellings and childlike scrawl:

* * *

_Stuff to do befoor im old_

_#1 Meet a kyoot gurl_

_#2 Watsh a dool_

_#3 Beet an army_

_#4 Engage in a stimulating political discussion_

* * *

In case you haven't noticed, Mom helped me with the last part.

After I'd read the list to her, Lucy asked me what my childhood had been like. I told her a little bit—about the singing and clarinet lessons, the horseback riding, the penmanship training, and all the other little things that I'd thought frivolous at the time but later realized were useful talents in a court where frivolity was the order of the day. (I mean, for crying out loud, we haven't changed our dress code since the 18th century).

I offered to dance with her sometime. Unlike the writing lessons, she blushed and accepted immediately.

She, in turn, told me about her childhood before I'd "met" her. She'd been tortured, twisted, and brutalized in every conceivable way before her fifth birthday. From there, it got worse. I nearly vomited at one point.

How could she stand it?

"I couldn't do anything else," she'd replied.

I thought it best not to mention that I would have put a vector through my head after the first month. Perhaps diclonii are wired differently than humans—tougher than we are; harder to break down. Maybe I underestimate my own will to survive if I'd been placed in similar circumstances. Who knows?

Then she told me about her time at the orphanage. I'm not going to be dramatic and say that this was just as horrifying in its own way as the experiments, because that's ridiculous. Still, it was pretty horrible. Some of the highlights included orphans beating her dog to death and waking from a nightmare where she was trapped in a black void only to find her entire room covered in handprints.

I admit that I'd envied her a little bit for her abilities. Never again.

* * *

**To Do #3: Beet an Army**

The drive to Army headquarters was…eventful. My convoy stopped _en route_ because a gunfight between the police and a group of terrorists had broken out a few dozen yards ahead of us. The terrorists were hunkered down in a bank and firing like there was no tomorrow. Worse, their shots were inaccurate.

Amateurs.

This was becoming a regular occurrence. Urban guerrilla warfare isn't a hobby; it's a pledge—to kill the agents of the government, steal its weapons, free its prisoners, and take its money from the banks. It's a lifestyle that simultaneously demands secrecy, self-reliance, initiative, and an encyclopedic knowledge of the area of operations.

…Or so they tell me.

In any event, I'd forbidden the Black Knights to allow anyone into our organization unless they'd already committed an act of terrorism. That had separated the wishy-washy poseurs from the real thing in a hurry. It had also drawn dozens of enthusiastic would-be terrorists out of the woodwork. Nearly thirty Britannians had died this week alone—civilian _and _military—and the death tolls were still mounting. I made a mental note to hurry the first batch of snipers to the front as soon as they finished training.

The shooting stopped and we drove on. I learned later that they'd been college students, and took a few minutes to write letters to their grieving families.

That's war for you.

* * *

A good reputation is like an iceberg. You may only see it working for you a few times a day—a nod here, a 'congratulations' there—but that's only part of the story. Most of the action lies beneath the surface, in all the little bonuses that come your way without ever figuring out who tossed them to you.

My recent popularity with the army was a perfect case in point. Before that, my only link to Barclay's operations had been through Clovis. Now things were different. I'd defied Clovis on national television for the sake of Britannian soldiers' lives, and for non-Purebloods, that was more than enough to compensate for my recent softening toward the Japanese. As far as the Brass were concerned, Clovis was commander-in-chief in name only. They made me privy to everything that was going on, and my advice started popping up word-for-word in operational documents. For all intents and purposes, Barclay took orders directly from me now. That is, until Cornelia arrived.

_Ah, Cornelia…_

Cornelia would be a different kettle of fish from Clovis. She was willing to spend massive quantities of money and blood to win, and she understood that in war, half-measures are more expensive in the long run.

_At last, a worthy adversary_.

You might be wondering why I didn't ask for the post of Viceroy myself. The answer is twofold. First, I hadn't prepared the groundwork for my arrival. The time was not yet ripe. Second, it's usually a bad idea to ask directly for what you want. Usually, I prefer to wait until an opportune moment presents itself—it's less annoying to potential patrons and leaves me in a better position to ask for other favors later on.

So in the meantime, I'd used my window of opportunity to destroy the JLF.

The JLF's tactics had been right out of Insurgency 101. They'd split the country into autonomous zones—in Tokyo alone, there were thirty four separate districts, each under its own commandant. At the head of the whole outfit were four leaders: a political-military leader, a political assistant, a military assistant, and an intelligence liaison. In typically muddled Eleven fashion, they made their decisions collectively.

That was the theory, anyway. In practice, power rested with one man without a formal post: Tohdoh. Dad once told me that in a democracy, the just citizen is loved while the wise one is merely respected. Kyoshiro Tohdoh, the Miracle Maker of Itsukushima, was both. I wanted him. _Badly_.

We'd already rounded up most of the mishmash of former criminals, Party 'intellectuals', and anti-collaborationist vigilante groups that comprised the JLF's political branch. The military wing was trickier. For one thing, their cells were smaller—only 35 men per district as compared with around 127 political operatives. Then there was the fact that the political and military branches were essentially autonomous from one another. Once again, Tohdoh was the glue holding the two together.

Oh, and did I mention that the bomb-making network was segregated from _everything else?_

Come to think of it, the JLF was as large and complex as any terrorist organization I'd ever seen. Unlike my Black Knights, someone must have been building it up for years. After the conquest, our military had been withdrawn too soon and replaced with an outnumbered, underqualified police force. That had given the JLF the margin of time that it needed, and could only mean one thing: that the Viceroy of Area Eleven was an idiot.

…But then, I'd already known that.

"What've you got for me today, Barclay?"

He led me into a freezing metal room that seemed like a cross between a prison cell and a meat locker. In one corner sat a shivering man covered in liver spots. From looking at him, I guessed that he was part of the "Lost Generation"—the poor fools who'd counted on the _Shakai Hoken_ to take them through their golden years only to discover that social insurance didn't jive with Britannia's economists. His eyes bugged out when he saw me and he threw himself onto the ground, vigorously knocking his head against the floor.

"You've prepped him," I remarked.

Barclay nodded. I slammed my hand on the desk and the kow-towing stopped. The man looked up at me, taking care not to meet my eyes.

"How did you enter the JLF?" I asked.

A sob story followed. He'd been a good worker trying to make an honest living, and one day a bunch of JLF thugs had showed up and demanded a "contribution" to the Cause. He'd agreed after some forceful salesmanship. More contributions followed, and then they upgraded him to a "collector" himself.

At this point, I remarked to Barclay that the JLF must have been trawling the bottom of the barrel if they'd recruited a man of that age. He nodded. The man continued his boring, predictable story.

He'd been conscripted into the anti-collaborationists—the JLF's equivalent of our Purists—and ordered to kill a man he'd never met. He'd demurred. Cue beatings. He'd accepted. After the deed was done, he'd dropped the pistol into a trashcan and fled. That was how he'd entered the JLF.

_Yawn_.

"I want Tohdoh," I said.

The man looked puzzled and fiddled with his fingers until Barclay slapped him. Why of _course_ he knew where Tohdoh was! Yessiree, he'd get him for me immediately.

Well, not exactly. See, he only knew where the _Four Holy Swords_ were. Good enough.

"Where are they?" I demanded.

A little house on the fringes of Shinjuku—within six blocks of the Chief of Police's office.

How had they pulled _that_ one off, you ask?

Oh, simple. JLF vigilantes showed up and told the locals to keep quiet or else. Then they'd shot a couple suspected collaborators to get the point across.

I looked at Barclay. He took a contented drag on his cigarette and grinned.

"I want this man placed in solitary confinement for the remainder of the campaign," I said. "None of the Elevens can find out that I'm involved in this operation. As for the Four Holy Swords, you know what to do."

He stood up, snapped off a salute, and clicked his heels together.

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

_All Hail Britannia_.

* * *

**To Do #2: Watsh a Dool**

A small knot of Purebloods surrounded Kewell, voicing their encouragement. Standing next to me, a _persona non grata_ among the Men-Who-Mattered, was Jeremiah Gottwald. Mist clung to the lawn. A pair of pistols waited in their box for the action to begin.

"Seconds out," Villeta called.

The sun hid behind a wall of mist. I noted the poor lighting with a hint of trepidation, then reminded myself of the time I'd watched Jeremiah shoot the pips off a playing card at a fifty yards. That man could nick a fly in the dark.

Yeah. I hoped.

Kewell Soresi glowered at Jeremiah from across the field—no sportsman, he. Oh, no. I refused to spare Kewell so much as a nod, which suited him just fine as well.

Marika Soresi stood a few meters away from the action. I tried to avoid her glare. Nobody would admit it, but I was the reason for this farce. If I hadn't announced my intention to stand behind the Japanese, Gottwald wouldn't have needed to defend me in the Purebloods' mess hall. Ergo, Kewell wouldn't have argued with him. Ergo, Gottwald wouldn't have slapped him and called him out.

Q.E.D.

I nodded in her direction and turned away.

Kewell's hand was shaking as he took the pistol, but at this stage in the game there was nothing that he could do. Gottwald had refused to apologize, and Kewell couldn't let an insult of that magnitude stand—not unless he wanted his reputation destroyed. The _Code Duello_ brooked no compromises. Jeremiah, on the other hand, looked like a man attending a party—he'd smiled and winked at Villeta when he'd first arrived and counted down the minutes by chatting with a cluster of bystanders.

I leaned against a Japanese maple and felt the touch of moisture as the dew penetrated my uniform. I didn't like the smirk on Kewell's second's face. Did he trust Kewell's marksmanship, or…?

A flash of white in the forest ahead. Impossible. Unmistakeable.

A girl. Eyes like amber. Her hair the color of the leaves that she was crouching behind. She stood up when she noticed me and pirouetted.

_C.C._

"Jeremiah, excuse me for a minute…"

"B-but your Majesty--!"

_Why did it have to be __now__?!_ I thought.

"Jeremiah, I'm sorry, but I need to check something. Please forgive me."

I dashed across the field toward the girl, who had already begun to retreat into the shadows of the woods. I heard a _schlock!_ as Kewell cocked his pistol. Jeremiah did the same. Both must have been pouring powder into their firing pans by now.

The pistols cracked behind me and I heard a body fall to the grass. I knew, intellectually, that looking back wouldn't change the outcome.

…I looked back anyway. Just like that, I'd lost C.C. again.

* * *

**To Do #4: Engage in a Stimulating Political Discussion**

Jeremiah was too annoyed with me to attend our usual practice session, so I spent the evening on a tour of the Shinjuku ghetto with Suzaku and Euphemia. It was pleasant enough, I guess—I was _almost_ able to ignore the saccharine-sweet looks that the two little lovebirds kept giving each other. Almost.

"Take a look over there," I said.

Euphemia and Suzaku followed my outstretched hand to a scene I'd seen replayed time and time again: a Britannian nobleman's goons hassling a Japanese vendor who'd been stupid enough to "overcharge" him. A small crowd of people had gathered to watch the action.

"Observe," I said. "The Britannians are easily outnumbered ten to one, but nobody does anything. If you tallied up the number of soldiers in _the entire nation of Japan_, it wouldn't exceed a hundred thousand. And you know something? We're perfectly secure."

Suzaku suddenly found the pavement fascinating. Even Euphie wouldn't meet my eyes.

"You know why?" I pressed. "Because even though we're living in Japan, these aren't Japanese all around us. They're Elevens. Obedience has become a habit for them."

Euphemia cocked her head to one side.

"There are still _some_ Japanese left," she said.

_So…she's heard of the Black Knights_.

"True enough," I admitted. "Clovis's repression has seen to that. Even so, Clovis has all of the military resources at his disposal. These guys have what? A couple rifles and Molotov cocktails."

Suzaku stroked his chin thoughtfully. Cicadas whined in the distance. I closed my eyes and inhaled the autumn air.

"We shouldn't underestimate them," Suzaku said. "And besides, there's always the danger that China could step in if things get violent enough."

I dismissed the possibility with a wave of my hand.

"_That_ danger is all on Zero's side," I said. "The Chinese would sell out the Resistance in a heartbeat if it suited them. Besides, Britannia can offer the Eunuchs a lot more than a bunch of terrorists can."

"But—" he began.

"—And if you're going to say that China could gain a lot more by booting Britannia out of Japan, answer me this: Who's going to force the Chinese to leave?"

Suzaku opened his mouth, shut it, and scratched the back of his head.

"Heh. Good point."

Euphemia wasn't ready to give up so easily. I hadn't expected her to—she was a proper little sparkplug when she felt like it.

"There's always the Britannian Parliament," she said. "If the terrorism gets costly enough, maybe the nobles will force Father to pull out."

And there you have it: my dear, hopelessly naïve little Euphie. To this day, she's probably the only Britannian I've ever met who talked about democracy and actually meant it.

"You know full well that they're all in Dad's pocket," I said.

"Not the Foreign Affairs Committee."

I suddenly remembered an entry in the Britannian Colloquial Dictionary:

_Committee (n.) –_ _A group of intelligent people--usually between four and eight in number--whose combined efforts produce the work of one idiot_

"Democracy is a crock," I said.

Euphie's eyes narrowed and her lips tensed into a narrow line. When she spoke again, there was genuine hurt in her voice.

"You didn't always think that. When did you become such a cynic?"

I sighed.

"I'm just a realist, Euphie. People are basically untrustworthy, nasty creatures when you leave them to their own devices."

"The EU's doing OK," she replied. "Are you going to tell me that _they_ aren't a democracy?"

"Apples and oranges," I said.

Euphie gave a little _hmph!_ and folded her arms across her chest. Suzaku laughed.

"That's Lelouch for you. Any time he's losing an argument, he finds some logical nitpick and clings to it like grim death."

This time, it was my turn to cross my arms and _hmph_.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Suzaku."

He smirked.

"Yeah? So prove me wrong."

I explained in the most obnoxiously pedantic manner possible, doing my best to give the impression that I was lecturing a five-year-old.

"Really, Suzaku, the answer is _obvious_. The EU has been a multinational republic for almost two hundred years. Britannia's an empire. There are what—fifty million of us? Sixty? And we're controlling hundreds of millions of non-Britannians. If Britannia became a democracy, we'd start repressing the hell out of everybody even worse than we do now. An Emperor hires people regardless of their race. Good luck with that if Britannia ever goes democratic."

"Not if the Empire breaks away from Britannia," Euphie countered.

"If they break away, they'll have done so by terrorism. Their political leaders will be a bunch of angry thugs. Prospects for democracy would be pretty much zilch."

Instead of replying, Euphemia sauntered over to a stone bench, pulled her skirt around her legs, and sat down. Her eyes glazed over as she stared at the deep blues and purples of the Japanese sunset. I sat beside her and offered her my canteen. The water sloshed around as she unscrewed it and took a long sip.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said at last.

Suzaku and I both nodded.

"What if you were a terrorist leader?" she asked.

Icy hands gripped my stomach. _No, it couldn't be…_

"I…er…what do you mean?"

I'd never seen her eyes burning with such intensity before.

"What would _you_ do if you were Zero? Would _you_ become a dictator?"

_Phew. _A hypothetical question. I watched the sunset paint the sides of Shinjuku's crumbling skyscrapers.

"I don't think I'd be able to resist the temptation," I said. "If I was Zero, there would only be two possible endgames. Only one would bring democracy."

"And that endgame would be…?"

"I'd have to die. And quite frankly, I don't think I'm enough of an idealist to kill myself for a cause like that."

Euphie gasped. Suzaku shifted from one foot to the other with an uneasy little shuffle. I realized that this conversation must have been pretty awkward for him, but loyal friend that he was, he did his best to lighten me up. He slapped me gently on the back.

"Sorry, Lelouch, but I don't buy it. You mean to tell me that trying to help the Japanese people is just a political move?"

"Basically, yeah."

His eyes widened and the hand on my shoulder went limp.

"If it's any consolation, I _do_ intend to follow through with it," I said.

Euphie's eyes were watering a little by now. She shook her head vigorously and forced a smile.

"Well _I_ for one don't believe you! And I think people are basically good, too. So there!"

"Correction," I said. "They're basically good as long as it doesn't conflict with their interests."

In a most unladylike gesture, she wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffled.

"That's just Father talking," she said.

"That's _Nunnally_ talking," I replied.

She pushed herself to her feet and glared at me, hands on her hips.

"Nunnally would _never_ say a thing like that!"

"Nunnally is a realist," I said. "She thinks well of people because she's forgiving, not because she's naïve."

Euphie's shoulders drooped and she sank back into the bench.

"Father's done a real job on us, hasn't he?" she said.

I nodded.

* * *

**To Do #1: Meet a Kyoot Gurl**

Lucy wasn't in the cabin, and the entire place had been turned upside down. Broken pieces of wood and glass covered the floors. The kitchen wall was splattered with dried blood, which trailed into small coagulated pools at the base of the refrigerator. Red, barefooted tracks led out to the backyard. Standing in the middle of it all was a girl with golden eyes, green hair, and a smirk that was far too old and cynical for someone of her years.

"Welcome back, Lelouch."

_So many questions…_

I looked from the girl to the devastation. Back again. Again.

"I didn't do it, if that's what you're thinking," she said.

I kept staring. She shrugged, opened the refrigerator, and poured herself a glass of milk.

"What happened here?!" I shrieked.

She raised her right eyebrow an imperceptible smidgeon and pointed to a note on the kitchen counter.

"See for yourself."

Saying that I walked to the counter would be inaccurate, since "walked" implies a purposeful action performed by an individual whose mental faculties are running on all eight cylinders.

_Drifted_ would be closer to the truth.

* * *

_Dear Lelouch,_

_Tonight, a man from the facility came for me. He was good, and I'd been out of practice. He managed to surprise me in the kitchen and nearly got me. I left him in the back yard if you want to ask him any questions. Don't worry—I've already crippled him and gouged his eyes out for you. He says his name is Bando._

_Lelouch, I can't stay with you anymore. The past few weeks have been wonderful, and I've even lied to myself that they'd last forever…but they can't. The fact that Bando found me here means that I'm being tracked. Hunted. I'd never forgive myself if I endangered you._

_No, please don't argue that you can protect me. The person tracking me is another diclonius—her name is Nana, if that helps—and she can sense where I am. Don't ask me how. I can't explain it. _

_I'm sorry I had to leave so abruptly. I wish I could have stayed. Oh, do I ever! At least I've been able to apologize to you before they find me and kill me. You have no idea how much that means to me._

_I love you, Lelouch._

_--Lucy_

_

* * *

_

I don't know how long I stood there in stunned silence, but I _do_ remember what followed. I screamed. I swore. I threw my splintered chair across the room and wanted to tear my hair out when it bounced off the wall instead of smashing into a million pieces. Through it all, C.C. sipped her milk.

"I just _knew_ this would turn out to be an interesting visit," she said.


	6. Turn 6: Lucy

* * *

**MEMO**

**TO: **_His Highness, Viceroy Clovis li Britannia_

**FR:** _His Highness, Lelouch vi Britannia_

**RE:** _I want answers. NOW._

**DA:** _September 7, 2017 a.t.b_

_Last night I discovered a man in my backyard with his arms and legs broken in multiple places and his eyes gouged out. When I found him, he was ranting about a horned girl with telekinetic powers who'd been living in __my__ house. I recognized him from your office a month ago, so don't bother denying your involvement. I've already notified Cornelia. She's furious, as per usual._

_Here's the deal: You'll transfer all files regarding this girl to me immediately. No negotiations._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 6: Lucy**

"Don't you have anything to _eliminate_ memories?" I asked.

The man curled up on the concrete floor just moaned. I wrapped a vector around his wrist and twisted. After the shrieking stopped, he shook his head vigorously.

"Then I guess this will have to do," I said.

The man exhaled with a sharp, ragged gasp. He probably thought that he was in the worst agony of his life. I'd teach him differently.

"Aaaagghhh!"

How long had it been since I'd seen Lelouch? A week? Two? While I was in Kamakura, I'd marked my days by the schedule of torture that they'd called experiments. Pain had been my calendar. With Lelouch, the opposite had been true—my life had revolved around his free time, measured by the number of hours until I'd be able to bask in his presence again. Now, I had neither.

"Please, stop it! Oh please…Just let me die!"

On the first two days of my self-imposed exile, I'd watched his house from a distance. That green-haired bitch was rooming with him. She was still in the full bloom of youth, just as I'd seen her on the day I met Lelouch. I had no idea how she'd survived decapitation, and decided that next time she wouldn't get off so lightly.

"Kill me! Please kill me! Aaargh!"

A pizza delivery boy came by Lelouch's house every day now, sometimes two or three times a day. I'd fantasized about killing him and taking his place—if only to talk to Lelouch for one stolen moment. I wanted to make sure that the girl was only his accomplice and nothing more. But like the pathetic shell that I was, I couldn't work up the courage to do even that.

_And what makes you think that __you__ were anything but an accomplice?_ a voice snickered.

"Shut up!"

As soon as I'd said that, the room became very quiet. The man must have heard me and thought that I was yelling at him.

"That wasn't meant for you," I said. "I _want_ you to scream."

I dug a vector into his leg and wriggled it around a few times. The background noise allowed me to tune out for a while. I glanced at my new collection of bottles, all wrapped in tissue paper and sitting in their cardboard cubbies. They would last me for a while.

My thoughts were interrupted by the screech of wheels. I turned to see a knightmare frame barreling toward me at top speed like Sir Galahad on roller blades.

_The night police?_

No. His piloting skills were too sharp. I'd already had a few run-ins with the Saitama police, and they were uniformly incompetent, even by human standards. This man was regular military. Fortunately, he didn't know what _I_ was.

I got rid of the evidence. It screamed once more and then fell silent.

I heard a _clunk_ as the knightmare's searchlight flickered on. The beam threaded through the rows of boxes. Soon, that blinding light would focus on me, and I needed to move before that happened.

I stretched my vectors a meter or two in front of me and waited until the knightmare was almost on top of me before I made my move.

As soon as its legs hit my vectors, I tightened two of them around its ankles like a snare and wrapped the other two around a beam overhead. The knightmare toppled head over heels and careened into a pile of crates. It floundered around for a few seconds and then, to my surprise, managed to right itself.

_Shit._

My opponent stood barely twenty meters away, at the end of a tunnel of wooden crates. I slammed my vectors into the ground, but instead of the launch I'd been expecting, my vectors smashed through the floor. Some idiot had built a basement in this place.

"Stand and identify yourself!" a voice screamed over the knightmare's loudspeaker. I did neither. Instead, I grabbed onto the left wall of the crate-tunnel and pulled myself diagonally forward.

"What the--?"

He fired. I shoved off the wall and pulled myself toward the other one as soon as my vectors got into range. The rapid change in direction saved me from a hailstorm of bullets. I allowed myself to hope that he'd just stand there, bemused, until I zigzagged close enough to tear open the hatch and kill him.

No such luck. The knightmare's wheels screamed and burned rubber as he kicked his machine into reverse. He opened up on me again with his automatic cannon.

_BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG*click*_

I grinned.

Now that the heavy artillery was out of the way, I could step into the open again. I can skitter along the floor pretty quickly when I use my vectors like legs—faster than most knightmares can drive. I started cutting him off, narrowing the escape routes until he was backed into a corner. He tried to change direction and double back a few times, but it didn't help. Britannians aren't used to fighting on the retreat, and I've had a lot of experience chasing people down.

As I closed in for the kill, he let loose with his small-caliber Auto-Nordenfelt. I almost laughed out loud. No rifle bullet in existence can penetrate my vectors. I spent the next few seconds calmly deflecting the bullets.

_Go ahead. Try the other one._

Both slash harkens rocketed at me from his shoulder pylons. I couldn't deflect them, but it didn't need to. Instead, I danced to one side, grabbed the metal coil with my vector, and started climbing forward. He retracted it as soon as he saw what I was doing. He probably figured that he'd either shake me off or crush me between his armor and the returning metal blade. Fat chance.

After I ripped him out of the cockpit, I climbed into the rafters and held him by his heels for a while—just enough time to let it sink in that he was going to die. _Then_ I dropped him.

Nobody interrupts me when I'm thinking.

* * *

_The first day of my life that's worth remembering. I'm able to feel the sun on my back for the first time in months. Wind ruffles my hair—another forgotten luxury. The boy's sister wants to play with me. She offers me a velvet doll. I look at the boy. Does he like dolls? I doubt it, so I refuse. He smiles at me. _

_Oh ye-e-e-e-e-e-s-s-s-s….._

_

* * *

_

So this was Refrain, huh?

I liked it. I tried a larger dose.

* * *

_It's the summer of 2009. A boy with a cape like a superhero saunters up to me. He's a foreigner, and I instinctively dislike him despite his cute face. Worse, he's human. Vile, disgusting little pests. The kind of vermin who beat your dog to death with a vase while all you can do is sit there and get splattered with the blood. My hands claw at the hem of my dress. Oh, how I want to--_

"_I couldn't help but notice your horns," the boy says. "They're…interesting. Kinda cool, actually."_

_My vectors crawl around the boy's ankles and prepare to split him like a wishbone. I know that somewhere, my handlers are waiting to put a bullet in my head if anything happens. They'll be too slow. It will be a matter of seconds, and everything—this conversation, this boy, this life—will be over. How…blissful. _

"_Let me guess: you think I look like a freak," I say._

_I search his face for signs of disgust or amusement. There aren't any. Actually, he's looking at me like Kurama does, except that while Kurama is always cold, there's something about this boy's eyes…_

_Then__ he laughs._

"_Believe me, this is nothing compared to some of my relatives. You should see Uncle Henry."_

"_Huh?"_

_He shrugs._

"_The price of selective breeding. Sometimes the lottery works out, sometimes it doesn't. I'm not even sure if we qualify as human any more, to be honest."_

"_N-not human?"_

_The boy clears his throat and speaks in a mock-official tone._

"_Ahemhemhemhem…The Britannian Royal Family is a group of artificially enhanced humans, developed through a hundred and fifty years of eugenic selection and genetic manipulation. The work started in the 19__th__ century a.t.b., with the work of Francis Galton…"_

_He winks._

"_I know it all by heart," he says. "I could go on for a while. It's the first thing they have us memorize."_

"_When did you do that?" I ask._

"_Oh, about ten months," he says._

"_Ten months ago?"_

"_No," he says. "Ten months OLD. I learned it at ten months old. Anyway, your horns are pretty cool. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."_

_My cheeks heat up. I won't kill this boy after all. _

* * *

I woke up with a metallic taste in my mouth and the urge to choke every time I inhaled. My hand shot up to my nose. Blood, of course. I'd run into a wall. I'd just survived a fight with a knightmare and gotten injured by a wall.

My legs were freezing in the night air. I realized that I was sitting in a puddle, and that it was raining. The lower half of my dress had become caked with grime and other assorted alley filth. When I tried to stand up, a shard of glass that was stuck in my leg sent a shock of pain through my body.

Did I need antibiotics? I wasn't sure. On one hand, I'd always been a fast healer. If I hadn't been, the Kamakura researchers would've taken better care of me. (Ironic, isn't it?) Then again, I'd always been kept in a sterile environment. For all I knew, I'd never built up an immunity to anything.

I sat down again and removed the shard. A ratty Zero 'wanted' poster stared down at me. Somebody had spray-painted Zero's "National Purification Campaign" symbol over it.

Funny, really: the only time I'd ever been 'wanted' was when I'd been a criminal. Ha-ha.

_Awwwww… poor little Lucy._

In the distance, I heard a newspaper boy announcing that the Four Holy Swords had been executed. Whoever they were.

Wait a minute. What was a member of the regular army doing in Saitama?

Better question: Who cares?

* * *

"_A hat?" I ask. "B-but…are you __sure__ that's what it is?"_

"'_Course it's a hat," he replies with a sniff. "Doesn't it look like one?"_

_Evidently it does to him, so I put it on. _

"_Fits you pretty well," he says._

"_Great," I stammer. He smiles, an artist surveying his handiwork._

"_It looks good on you," he declares at last. Just like that, I forget that I'm wearing a white-and-gold tasseled monstrosity that looks like a cross between a pirate hat and a hors d'oeuvres platter. The hat will probably attract more attention than the horns it's supposed to cover up, but it's the thought that counts._

_Killing people may be easier than impressing this boy, but it's much less fun. _

_Lions bask in the noonday sun behind us. Men tossed meat through the enclosure a few minutes ago—Lelouch delayed feeding time by half an hour to make sure I could watch—and the whole pride is satiated and content._

_Not unlike me, actually._

* * *

The memory was missing the part where I'd almost strangled Lelouch. I guessed that Refrain must delete the bad stuff, like a movie editor.

"Oh, Lelouch," I whispered. "I'm so _sorry_…"

The Refrain had worn off again, and I fumbled around the box for another dose. I needed it quickly, before the tears came.

_Too late._

The alternating gasps and sobs made it difficult to stick the needle in, and I stabbed myself a few times before I managed to inject the next serving of memories.

* * *

"_Okay, so how does the queen move again?" I ask._

_Probably for the tenth time in as many minutes, Lelouch lets out an exasperated sigh. He takes my hand and guides it to the queen, sliding the piece forward, backward, left, right, and diagonally across the checkered mahogany board. It isn't able to move its full allotment of spaces in any of these directions, although I can't remember exactly why. The answer has something to do with other pieces being in the way, at least until they're "taken". Or something like that._

_Ugh..._

"_Victory at last!" he shouts, waving his arms like a lunatic._

"_W-what?" I say._

"_You just won, Lucy."_

_Somewhere to my right, a bird twitters. A real bird. Not the simulated bird sounds that they play in my cell for three hours every day for who-knows-what-reason._

_I look down at the board and try to remember what all of the pieces do. The position looks familiar, but something's off. Lelouch's king is trapped and being threatened by my horsey-looking piece that moves in an L. Then I realize what's happened._

_He rearranged the board when I wasn't looking. He's cheated to allow me to win._

_How…sweet._

_That evening, we sit on the mossy stone steps of a mountain trail and sing to the setting sun._

_Later, Kurama congratulates me on my performance._

* * *

I was still bleeding in a Saitama gutter. Fortunately, I'd been sitting down during my last memory, so I hadn't felt the need to get up and ram into another wall. In the hammering rain, the sides of the alley seemed to ooze and dribble into the ground, as if the city was melting. The blood leaking from my leg formed delicate arabesques against my pale skin.

A cat scampered past me wearing Zero's helmet.

_Is that…?_

_Nah, couldn't be._

Just to be sure, I decapitated the cat and destroyed the mask. Deprived of real foes, I could still protect Lelouch from my own hallucinations.

Time for more Refrain.

* * *

"_Don't you have anything to __eliminate__ memories?" I ask._

_The man curled up on concrete floor just moans a few times. I wrap a vector around his wrist and twist. After the shrieking stops, he shakes his head vigorously._

"_Then this will have to do," I say._

* * *

Wait a minute. That memory came from a few hours ago. Was the moment I'd discovered Refrain really one of the happiest of my entire life?

Yes. Yes it was.

* * *

_Recursing (n.) – See "Recursing"_

_

* * *

_

I heard an explosion to my right, followed by pleas for mercy.

"You'll get no mercy from me," I growled.

The rattle of gunfire in the distance.

_Oh, wait…_

The voices weren't speaking to me at all. In fact, they weren't even within my direct line of sight. Just how far gone _was_ I?

"Far enough that you're talking to yourself," somebody behind me said.

I rotated in the mud puddle until I was facing the source of that saccharine-sweet voice.

"You're not real," I said. "You're just another hallucination."

Nana shrugged.

"Then I guess you won't have any objections to coming with me," she said.

"Do I look like I'm in any state to fight?"

She leaned forward onto her unopened umbrella, which sank a few inches into the mud. Kurama must not have explained to her how to use it.

"I suppose not," she said. "All right, Lucy, let's get—AAARGH!"

Looks can be deceiving. By the time Nana realized what I was doing, she was already missing both horns and most of her fingers. Without the horns, she couldn't manifest her vectors anymore. The fingers were just for fun.

"What are you still smiling about?" I said.

Nana laughed until I thumped her in the ribs with one of my vectors.

"My question wasn't meant to amuse you. Now answer me."

"You're…s-s-o…s-stupid! Did-didn't you p-put two and—aah!—and two together? They're d-destroying the Saitama Ghetto today."

Destroying it? It made sense, I guess. Saitama was one of the main bastions of support for Lelouch's Black Knights. If I hurried, I _might_ get away in time…and was I thinking out loud again?

"Lelouch?" Nana asked. "_Prince_ Lelouch?"

I _was_ thinking out loud. Make that one more witness I had to send to the morgue.

"Is he the one with black hair and purple eyes?" Nana said.

Wait a minute…since when did Nana know anything about the royal family? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a younger version of myself dancing a waltz with the headless gray corpse of the Empress. I ignored it.

"Where did you see Lelouch vi Britannia?"

Nana tilted her head to one side with a look of confusion on her face.

"He visited the facility. Papa showed him around."

'_Papa'. Of course. Kurama's bonded with the little imbecile._

She flashed me a brainless smile.

"He even asked Papa to stop running tests on me. Can you believe it? He's so _nice_!"

* * *

_Voices. A young woman's. Scolding. Needy._

"_You can't even manage to make RICE?!"_

_A young man's. Kind. Placating. _

"_Aw, Yuuka. Don't be like that. You know I'm doing the best I can. And it's not as if any of us are going to live much longer anyway…"_

_Something ceramic smashes into bits. _

"_Don't you dare say that, Kohta! Don't you DARE! We're all going to survive this! Even that girl with the horns."_

"_I don't see how," he says._

_Flesh hitting flesh. Gunfire far away, but getting closer. The Black Knights must be getting pushed back._

* * *

I sat up and rubbed my head. The people I'd heard in my dream were still there—a boy with large, innocent eyes and a brown-haired girl with an apron wrapped around her waist. They looked similar to each other, as if they were related. I guessed that they were about my age—probably college students, judging from their apparel. He looked vaguely familiar. The only source of light in the room came from a single oil lamp—Cornelia had cut off electrical power to Saitama a week ago in retaliation for "harboring terrorists". My horned shadow flickered on the polished wood floor, mocking me.

"Is this a memory?" I asked.

The girl covered her mouth and giggled—a high-pitched, nervous sound. The boy smiled and crouched next to me.

"No," he said.

The resentful look that the girl gave me when she saw her boyfriend pat me on the shoulder didn't escape my notice. Still, she managed to force a smile.

"Would you like something to eat?" she asked.

Our dinner was everything you'd expect a last meal to be—tense, drawn out, and nauseating. Yuuka spilled more tea on the front of her shirt than she drank, and Kohta jumped every time he heard gunfire. In a moment of supreme irony, _I_ was the bastion of calm that held the dinner together. And since they didn't realize my fearlessness came from a death wish, my presence seemed to soothe them. By the time the Britannian knightmares showed up at the end of the street, my new hosts had already resigned themselves to the inevitable. I, on the other hand, readied my vectors for action.

They weren't necessary. A deafening explosion shattered half the panes of glass in the house and illuminated the Saitama Ghetto like a second sun. I threw myself on top of the two humans to shield them from falling debris, but the house was sturdily built and all that I ended up deflecting was a shower of dust. We crouched together in that position for what seemed like hours. Then I heard a voice on a Britannian loudspeaker.

"Cornelia's command vehicle has been destroyed. Report back immediately for search-and-rescue operations."

Lelouch's voice.

As soon as he heard that announcement, Kohta leaped up and pulled Yuuka along with him. They spent the next minute whooping and dancing for joy. I don't think they even noticed me as I slipped out the door.

I never met either of them again. They're among the few humans who've ever treated me kindly, and that's probably why I didn't kill them. That sentimentality cost me a great deal—I spent the night freezing in an alley and developed the first cold of my life. All things considered, though, I'm glad I made that decision that I did. Call it stupidity if you want.

Months later, I searched the Britannian intel database for Kohta and Yuuka. They were cousins, as it turned out—and married. They disappeared from the database on the same day that I met them: September 22, 2017. I have no idea what happened to them. Perhaps they escaped China before the Japanese Revolutionary War heated up.

I like to think so, anyway.

* * *

**MEMO**

**TO: **_His Highness, Viceroy Clovis li Britannia_

**FR:** _Her Highness, Sub-Viceroy Cornelia li Britannia_

**RE:** _Lucy_

**DA:** _September 12, 2017 a.t.b_

_Lelouch used the data you've given him to produce a personality profile for this 'Lucy'. He suspects that her next move will be to return to the Kamakura Facility, and proposes that we concentrate two full Knightmare regiments there—almost half of our effective force. I concur. If Lucy is allowed to escape, we'll find ourselves neck-deep in diclonii in a matter of years. I'll be using the remaining regiments in the Saitama Cleansing Operation._

_One more thing, Clovis: Don't ever let me catch you holding back information like this again. EVER. Lelouch could have been killed. If he had been, your own head wouldn't have been far behind._

_

* * *

  
_


	7. Turn 7: Lelouch

**Chapter 7: Lelouch**

_A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush._

--Old Britannian Proverb

_Ignore old Britannian proverbs at your peril._

--Old Britannian Proverb

* * *

So it had come down to this.

What had my crucial mistake been? I wasn't sure. On one hand, you could argue that Nunnally had been lucky to trap me like this—but then, luck was _always_ part of the game. The bottom line was that I'd been outmaneuvered, and now I stood on the edge of an abyss. Should I try one more desperate roll of the dice?

"You won't be able to come back from this if you fail, Brother."

Nunnally smirked at me from across the table. I searched her face for signs of trepidation, but there weren't any. She held all the cards, and she knew it. She leaned back in her chair, put her feet up, and dug her hand into a bowl of pistachio nuts.

"I know what's going on, Brother, and I really think it would be best for your political survival if you gave up now. Before things get…unpleasant."

That was true. Pressing forward now meant almost certain defeat. For the first time in my life, I let myself sink into despair. If I gave up now—

CRRRACK! CRRRACK! CRRRACK!

"Nunnally, please don't shell pistachio nuts during sensitive negotiations."

She giggled and cracked another one.

"You were the one who taught me to make my opponent uncomfortable," she said.

_She even throws my own words back in my face. Such is the price of my trust._

Perhaps it was that final, offhand insult that stiffened my resolve. I would fight—even if it meant my own destruction.

"Do your worst," I said.

She smiled nastily.

"Hey guys."

_Oh, great._

"What is it, Suzaku?" I said.

"What are you two doing?"

That was the final straw. I leaped from my seat, arms outstretched.

"Think about it, Kururugi! We're two members of the most Machiavellian family on Earth, both obviously trying _very_ hard to guess what the other person is thinking. Admittedly, our maneuvers are probably over your head, but doesn't the phrase 'politics' ring a bell? Well, _doesn't it_?!"

Suzaku scratched his head.

"Umm…It looks like a game of Shoots and Ladders to me," he said.

"Games," I said solemnly, "are what the imagination makes of them."

Suzaku rolled his eyes. No fooling _him_, evidently.

In case you're wondering, we were sitting in Kallen's bedroom. Her Britannian "mother" had wisely decided to take the night off when she'd heard that Kallen had invited three young royals over. Her _real_ mother, on the other hand, had been welcome to attend as long as she didn't insist on serving us. She'd spent the last half hour huddled in the corner twiddling her thumbs until they'd started blistering, which made Euphie and Nunners incredibly uncomfortable.

Kallen wasn't much better. You'll see why in a moment.

I took the opportunity to scan her room. You might think that this would be an exercise in futility—Kallen had a lot of experience hiding her activities, and probably made sure to remove any traces of her double life from the prying eyes of Britannia's most observant teenagers before we'd arrived. Still the room had a story or two.

The window sill retained a few telltale scuff marks that she hadn't had time to repaint. Stuffed under the bed—so far that I had to bend over to see it—was a worn-out copy of _The Wretched of the Earth. _It was banned in Britannia during those days, for reasons I'd never understood. Fanon was a voice in the wilderness as far as I could tell.

One of the floorboards was looser than the others, and I laid ten-to-one odds that it contained her fake ID's. From the way her hand drifted to her purse every time I looked at it, I guessed that the little plastic wallet contained a weapon of some kind. Not that she'd have an opportunity to use it with Euphie, Suzaku, and Nunnally around…

_A nervous habit, then. _ _Duly noted._

Then there were the details that told me things I _didn't_ already know. The papers on her desk were crumpled and face-down, as if she was ashamed of them. I remembered her schoolwork from before—it had always been laid out in neat, face-up piles, despite the awful handwriting. Her grades must be deteriorating, which meant…

_Oho, now __that's__ interesting!_

My attention fixated on a picture sitting on the mantelpiece. A family photograph, undoubtedly. One of the people was a younger version of the woman sitting in the corner. A thin coat of some clear, gummy substance was still stuck to the glass over her face. Kallen must have removed a sticker or piece of tape from it recently.

I'd just stumbled into a more complicated family dynamic than I'd expected.

"Kallen, can I talk to you alone for a minute?"

Nunnally and Euphie tittered and exchanged knowing looks. I let them think whatever they liked. After my interrupted 'date' with Kallen got all over the news, we were the most famous 'couple' in Japan. The fact that she was half-Japanese and the Resistance had apparently let her go was added spice to the story.

"I…um…okay, Lelouch."

Unless she'd become an incredible actress overnight, Kallen's hesitant reply wasn't part of her 'sick girl' act. Euphie and Nunners each took one of Suzaku's arms and herded him from the room amid more half-suppressed giggles. Kallen's mother shuffled out like a prisoner being lead to the gas chamber. The look she gave Kallen was pure, concentrated guilt.

_If you knew what I'm __actually using__ daughter for, _I thought,_ you'd feel a lot worse_.

"So you want to claim your prize, is that it?" Kallen asked.

I sat down on one of her arm chairs, crossed my legs, and regarded her through interlaced fingers. I'm a sucker for drama.

"What exactly are you implying, Kallen?"

She snorted.

"Oh, come on Lelouch. You find out that my mother was busted for Refrain use, so you grease some palms, get her off with a slap on the wrist, and then expect me to come crawling back to you for sex and attention. That's it, isn't it?"

She _was_ right about one thing: the Britannian judicial system was absurdly corrupt. I've always thought that trial-by-coinflip would be considerably fairer and cheaper for all involved. At least until someone figured out how to tamper with the coin.

"_Would_ you come crawling back to me for sex and attention?" I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

She stiffened and looked slightly ill.

"Yes."

I sighed, folded my hands behind my head, and leaned back. It was a _very_ comfy chair.

"Actually, I'm not here for your body at all. I'm here to talk about your double life as a member of the Black Knights…"

Her eyes widened like a cornered animal and her right hand jerked to her belt.

"Looking for this?" I said. "I'm afraid I had to confiscate your little switchblade when you weren't—ACK!"

Kallen's confusion had only lasted a few moments—just long enough to realize that she could beat me up without using a knife. She tackled me to the ground, comfy chair and all. Strange to say, we landed in a rather…compromising…position.

(This seems to happen to me a lot, incidentally. I'm not sure why. I _like_ to think it's because I'm just that good-looking, but the more likely explanation is that Murphy's Law feels guilty and throws me a bone now and then. No pun intended.)

"Well, this is interesting…" I said.

"Shut up!" Kallen snapped. "You have exactly two seconds to tell me why I shouldn't slit your throat right now."

"Time's already up," I said.

My vision exploded in sparks as she bashed my head against the floor. Apparently, she didn't appreciate my brand of humor. In that moment, neither did I.

"Er…because I saved your mother?" I said.

Kallen drew back her fist. I closed my eyes and tried to remember whether _dementia pugilistica_ could occur in a sudden onset. Instead, I heard something embed itself into the floorboard next to my head. Then the weight lifted off my chest.

"That's the knife, isn't it?"

"You're the genius," Kallen said. "You tell me."

I opened my eyes. Jamming a knife next to your fallen opponent may not be the most original gesture on record, but I had to admit that it was pretty effective. Kallen stood by the open window, arms wrapped around her chest.

"Get out of here, Lelouch. You want to turn me in? Fine. Just keep my mother out of it."

"I'm not going to turn you in," I said.

She spun around, flicking teardrops onto the floor.

"Then you want me to—?"

"And I already told you that I don't want your body either," I said. "Now why not sit down before you hurt somebody? Me, for instance."

She walked to her seat in a daze. As she did so, I quickly assessed what I'd just seen.

The past two weeks must have been particularly tough for her. After the death of the Four Holy Swords and the capture of their immediate subordinates, the JLF had all but collapsed, which had allowed Cornelia to transfer Barclay's task force to exterminating my—Zero's—organization. The Black Knights themselves had been safe, but a lot of our ten-man firing teams had taken a beating.

I wasn't particularly concerned. I hadn't organized the Resistance into a centrally coordinated system like the JLF. They would have been too easy to track down that way. Most of my firing teams were autonomous, receiving only general instructions from central command and planning their operations independently. The Black Knights were the tip of the spear—my conventional military arm. If Kallen's mood was any indication, that tip was starting to bend.

Her voice had no energy when she spoke.

"What do you want, Lelouch?"

"I want to discuss the war," I said. "Quite frankly, I don't think that you can win it."

She laughed, but her head sank into her hands as she did so.

"Your people are already on the defensive after Saitama," she said.

I smiled at the memory of my Guy Fawkes reenactment. Too bad she couldn't know about that yet.

"I didn't say that you were _losing_, Kallen. I said that you couldn't win."

She sagged further into her seat. This time, she didn't even bother contradicting me.

"What do you think about compromising with Britannia?" I asked.

"Compromise is for lapdogs like Suzaku," she said. "A lamb doesn't compromise with a wolf."

"And it doesn't bother you that you could negotiate peacefully and end the violence?" I said.

She grimaced and slammed her fist into the armrest.

_Well, well…That one stung._

"You Britannnians could end the violence immediately if you left Japan! If it wasn't for Britannia, there wouldn't _be_ any violence!"

"Good answer," I said.

Kallen looked like she was ready to begin another round of shouting until she realized what I'd just said. She blinked a couple times.

"What game are you playing, Lelouch?"

I got up and started pacing in front of her.

"The way I look at it, Kallen, your people don't have a big window of opportunity. Most of your recruits are fairly new—"

She inhaled sharply.

"—which I know because our reports say that they've only started stealing bank guards' rifles a week and a half ago. Most of their attacks on police armories have been pretty amateurish, and there haven't been many ambushes yet…which indicates that your rebellion is still working its logistics out."

She relaxed a little and I tried to exhale as inconspicuously as possible.

"Here are my guesses. Tell me if I'm close. Most of your firing teams probably don't have good places to stash their weapons. You're short on licensed drivers thanks to the Numbers' Mobility Restriction Act. I'll bet that your scouting is still crummy and your people aren't able to blend into different regions yet."

Kallen flinched at each of my "guesses".

Dad once told me that holding too much hope for the future encourages you to slack off and makes it that much worse when reality hits. I guess he had a point. Still, all things considered, I prefer hope. With that in mind...

"Britannia isn't invincible," I said. "If the violence stops soon, you'll be able to negotiate before this place turns into a warzone."

Kallen gritted her teeth.

"Easy for you to say. You don't live under it."

This would take careful handling. I decided to hit her below the belt.

"Yeah? Well neither do you, Kallen. Sorry to break it to you, but you're a Britannian student for nine tenths of your life and spend the remaining tenth killing Britannian soldiers. That doesn't sound all that 'powerless' to me."

She lunged out of her chair and grabbed my collar. Just in time, she remembered to keep her voice down.

"Oh, so Britannia's vulnerable now, smart boy? All ready to fall over, huh? A country that controls a _third_ of the world's landmass? Are you _kidding_ me?!"

"Take a look at the Third World, Kallen. Dictatorships don't last very long anymore. Britannia's just behind the times."

She released my collar and laughed bitterly.

"…According to a Britannian prince," she said.

"Admittedly, my character references are less than ideal."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Suzaku has the right idea, even if he's too stupid to realize that he can't pull it off himself," I said. "Britannia needs to be reformed from the inside. I'm going to try to accomplish that, and I need your help sometime in the future. As a high ranking member of the Black Knights, you'll come in handy."

Kallen deflated. Then she nodded, more as conversation filler than a sign of agreement. I walked to the door, paused, and turned around.

"Kallen?"

"What?"

"Those countries I mentioned that went democratic? None of them did it through terrorism."

"Yeah, and I'm sure you _really_ care about democracy," she said.

"Admittedly, not very much. But clearly you do. As for me, I've always thought that monarchs exist because people aren't able to govern themselves. It's our job to serve the state just like anybody else."

"How convenient," she sneered.

"Indeed. But you'll at least admit that I'm less of a bastard than most of my relatives," I said.

"That depends. What do _you_ do in your spare time?"

_Ouch. Too bad she'll never learn just how right she is._

"I do _this_," I said.

I pulled out a list from my coat pocket and handed it to her. She read the first line and gasped.

"That's a list that I've assembled of the most likely members of the Black Knights," I said. "It's amazing what a little research can do once you know one of the members of a cell. If you're planning to kill me, just remember that this list is sitting somewhere in a sealed file."

She stared at the paper as if it was something from Mars. That just about wrapped up our interview, so I showed myself out.

* * *

"Absolutely not," Cornelia said. "They're common criminals, and they'll be treated as such."

I tried to turn to my left to look at her, but the barber yanked my head to the front again. Just _why_ Clovis had scheduled a combined haircutting-and-politics session I'll never know.

_Only in Britannia..._

"I've always thought of them as soldiers, myself," said Clovis.

I rolled my eyes. _That_, at least, I could do without getting jerked around by the wrestler-cum-barber. Of course, my siblings were _also_ staring ahead, so they didn't get to see my little gesture.

Sometimes, you just can't win.

"You're both wrong," I said. "A criminal kills for a specific purpose. Once that's over with, he might never be a threat to society again. Besides, his activities can be tracked easily. A soldier fights according to a set of rules and wears a uniform. A terrorist is neither."

"Oh?" Cornelia said. "And why not?"

From her tone of voice, I suspected that she'd raised an eyebrow. I couldn't be sure thanks to my ham-handed friend.

"They violate the first rule of Britannian honor—that those who kill should be prepared to be killed. Terrorists hide behind an organization that shelters them from retaliation. A soldier can get killed in battle, and a criminal can be captured by the police. The Chief of Police admitted to me yesterday that he isn't able to track the Resistance using normal means."

"And the army?" Clovis said.

I smiled.

"Ask Cornelia."

Cornelia drew a sharp breath. A few days ago, her master plan to draw Zero into the open had been foiled when one of her closest advisors smuggled a bomb onto her command vehicle. They found her standing in the wreckage totally unharmed, despite having survived a fireball that lit up the surrounding area for miles. At that point, I'd concluded that she was unkillable.

Strangely, her assassin claimed to have no memory of planting the bomb. A likely story.

"Terrorism is a weapon of warfare, nothing more," I said. "If you keep insisting on fighting this like a police action, they're going to slowly erode the Elevens' trust in your government. Elevens will turn to the terrorists because they're the only ones capable of protecting them. Anybody who informs on them will be tortured and killed."

Clovis _hmm'ed_.

"Maybe some police reforms would do the trick," he said.

Cornelia gave a disgusted little grunt. Apparently, we were both on the same page regarding Clovis's strategic abilities.

"Then they'll just move into the countryside, where policing is weaker," she said. "I've seen it before in Area 18."

Naturally, my barber took that opportunity to break in with her own strategic insights.

"The problem with the Elevens is that they're getting too uppity," she said. "Ya know, just the other day an Eleven butler killed Lord Dunsany. It was all over the papers and everything."

I looked behind me to get a better look at she-of-the-manly-hands. My tormentor was a shade over thirty, but caked with makeup like a junior high schooler at her first prom. Combined with her pigtails and pink sweater, the effect was surprisingly nauseating.

"With the way Britannians treat their servants, I'm not surprised," I muttered.

She smiled, snapped her bubble gum, and wrenched my neck forward again.

"Anyway, it's not as if blowing up a mall is any different from the strategic bombing," I said.

Clovis and Cornelia both stared at me as if I was insane. I noted resentfully that _their_ barbers allowed them to.

"But they don't run any _risks_!" Cornelia shouted. "You said so yourself!"

"That," I said, "is _our_ fault. Or more accurately, Clovis's."

"You're blaming ME?!" he said.

As if to punctuate his point, my hairdresser gathered a hunk of my hair and pulled for all she was worth.

"OUCH!...Spare me the indignation, Clovis. Your insistence on lawyers being present for interrogations is preventing Barclay from doing his job."

"Do you have any idea what kind of violence you'd see inflicted on prisoners if there were no lawyers?" Clovis said.

"War _is_ violence," I replied. "It's high time these people faced the same risks that any normal soldier would. Once they've given us the information we want, they'll be treated like any other prisoner of war."

"So you expect me to give that collection of brutes a free hand?" he demanded.

"Specialists, Clovis. Specialists. And yes, I do. Unless I'm much mistaken, so does our dear sister."

He looked pleadingly at Cornelia.

"Surely _you_ can't agree to this?"

She crossed her legs and chewed on her gloved forefinger. I could almost hear the wheels turning.

"It makes sense," she said at last. "If Lelouch's right, we'd be able to treat our opponents as soldiers. This would be a real war, not some grubby little police action."

_Ah, Cornelia…you're so easy to manipulate when honor and glory come into the equation._

"This is monstrous!" Clovis said. "Barclay's thugs would have a field day with these people. _My_ people."

"I doubt it," I said. "This isn't intended as punishment. We wouldn't hold our opponents personally responsible for their actions any more than an airman is when he bombs a city. We're after their leaders. And besides—AAARGH! For crying out loud, woman! Stop treating my hair like a clump of weeds!"

The soldiers behind us winced at my tirade. I reflected that, for a conquering warrior race, Britannians can be pathetically servile at times. The hairdresser, evidently, was not a typical Britannian. She just shrugged and flicked on the hair dryer. Thanks to the noise, I only caught half of Clovis's response.

"What if…don't know…would…continue?"

_Hmm…._

"If you're asking what happens if they don't know anything, my answer is this: we'll only ask them what they'd be expected to know. It's not as if we're going to be asking the money collectors where the weapons caches are."

Cornelia squealed--a sound which I'm _very_ pleased to admit I haven't heard very often. At least, not since her Sweet Sixteen when she'd snuck off with Guilford to the room adjoining mine. After that little incident, I'd always made sure to keep a box of earplugs by my bed.

"The Xth Household Regiment!" she said. "I could ask Father for _their_ help!"

In case you're wondering, the Xth Regiment is Britannia's finest counterinsurgency unit. They were probably the only regiment capable of carrying out this kind of operation—which was convenient, since Cornelia had fantasized about commanding them ever since Dad got her a set of Xth Regiment toy soldiers for her second birthday.

"There must be another way," Clovis said.

Cornelia was still floating somewhere in military nirvana, so I answered for her.

"There isn't any other way to get the information we're looking for quickly," I said. "Delays give cell members enough time to get away. Besides, it'll give you a chance to look tough on national television."

"Are you mocking me, Lelouch?"

"Oh, heck no. Diethard and I already have your speech prepared. It's great stuff. All the usual bullshit—that severity is necessary, that you _really _don't want to crack down except that the JLF is killing two thousand Elevens every month…that sort of thing. It'll be your crowning performance."

Clovis looked mollified, if still slightly suspicious. Cornelia growled something about not sailing to Japan for TV ratings.

"Then think of Britannia," I said. "Can you imagine what would happen if our subjects started using these tactics on the mainland?"

A sudden silence fell across the room. Even the hairdresser stopped her insistent tugging.

"They…they wouldn't _dare_," Cornelia whispered. "Not in the _homeland_."

"Think about it," I said. "Our police on the mainland aren't used to dealing with this kind of thing. A couple gangs could set up shop in the rural villages pretty easily. I'll bet there are enough discontented Britannians to do it even without the Numbers' help. The Reform Party, for instance. Think of what would happen if the Britannian people suddenly woke up one day and realized that the government couldn't protect them anymore."

I muttered a silent _thank you_ for the fact that the hairdresser allowed me to turn my head. If I hadn't, I never would have seen the look of horror on Cornelia's face.

"Oh no…"

I took a short breath and barreled into a short speech I'd prepared for the occasion.

"Oh yes, Cornelia. We grew up—all of us—with the knowledge that we could be called upon at any moment to stop a catastrophe. And you know something, Brother and Sister o'mine? The axe is ready to fall."

I took a quick glance in the mirror to see how everybody was reacting to my little performance. Clovis looked confused. Cornelia was nodding. And I…

_Oh no…_

For a moment, I didn't believe it. Only after I'd rubbed my shaking hands over my scalp did reality sink in. That evil, _evil_ butcher of a hairdresser had given me the next best thing to a buzz cut.

"I still have one more card to play," Clovis said.

Cornelia huffed in disappointment. I, on the other hand, felt my jaw and hands clench. I'd just endured Clovis's torture-by-barber for _this_? The stupid, obstinate, _cowardly_ little twit…

"What are you planning, Clovis?"

He chuckled.

"Oh, you'll see, little brother."

* * *

"You want to _negotiate_?" I shouted.

Tamaki jumped back and landed on the subway car's purple cushions. Ohgi and Kallen remained standing.

"Clovis wants to work with the government in exile," Ohgi said. "We might get parliamentary representation. I think we should at least consider it. If they can come up with some just arrangement…"

In spite of everything, I laughed.

"_Just_?" I spat. "You think this is a meeting of _equals_? Negotiations aren't about sitting across a peace table and singing kumbaya, Ohgi. They're a game where each side calculates how many concessions he's capable of extracting. Britannian negotiators are much better at playing that game than the corrupt dolts in the government-in-exile. They'll drag out negotiations until our side loses sight of its objectives. Justice doesn't enter into it."

Ohgi's shoulders bristled.

"You think I didn't consider that already?" he said.

"So you understand that negotiation is a give-and-take process?" I said.

"Yes, I do."

"Okay then, Ohgi. What are _you_ willing to give up to the dictators of your country?"

For a second, Ohgi had a dangerous look in his eyes. Then he turned his back and stalked across the Tabriz carpet. Kallen, ever the peacemaker (ha!), stepped between us.

"I dunno, Zero. Maybe we _should_ send people to the negotiations. I know that it's power politics, but the Britannian negotiators seem pretty serious about this. And not all the government in exile is corrupt."

_My, my, Kallen. I really did a job on you earlier today, didn't I?  
_

And that, of course, was the irony of it all. Just when I'd made headway in one direction, it had undermined my goals in another. My skin crawled as if it had an infestation of subcutaneous worms and I felt my stomach tightening up. I'd felt this before, during my childhood—usually when I realized that Clovis was going to beat me at chess in front of Mom and Dad. Control of the situation was seeping through my fingers even as I kept grasping for more levers to pull.

"If the negotiators think it's genuine, it's because Clovis told them that to make the ruse more convincing," I said. "Cornelia would nab our representatives as soon as they arrived. Come on, people: am I the _only _person in the room who's heard of Wat Tyler?"

From their blank expressions, I guessed that the answer was a firm 'yes'. No wonder Kallen was flunking history. To her credit, though, she glared back at me with a look of stoic determination.

"I'll go, Zero. I'm willing to take that chance. Besides…"

She trailed off, but I could almost hear what she was thinking: _I've already been compromised. I'm expendable._

"What makes you think Clovis will stick to his bargain?" I said.

"I…er…"

"The Resistance has been the _only_ thing restraining Britannian repression," I said. "When a dictator asks for peace, it's the peace of a graveyard."

Kallen gave me an odd look that I'd never seen from her before.

"And…what about you, Zero?" she asked.

"What about me?" I said.

"What sort of peace do _you_ want?"

_Very good, Kallen. Very good indeed._

I threw my head and arms back, opening my cape like a pair of bat's wings.

"My only peace table is the broken body of my adversary!" I said. "These 'negotiations' are designed to give Clovis legitimacy. His government is toppling. Let it fall."

Across the room, Tamaki snorted and crossed his muddy boots over the glass tabletop. Wet grains of subway filth dripped onto the clear surface.

"This is bullshit," he said. "We've obviously hurt 'em badly or they wouldn't be asking for negotiations."

"Right," Ohgi said. "And if we don't negotiate now, who knows what'll happen down the road? I say we negotiate!"

The urge to strangle him was almost irresistible. I switched my voice synthesizer off and took a couple deep breaths before replying.

"The world's a roulette wheel," I snapped. "Only an idiot would give up present advantages because of some distant possibility of failure."

Ohgi just pretended that he hadn't heard me. Tamaki pulled his attention away from the big-screen TV long enough to call for a vote.

_Idiots, all of you_.

Normally, it wouldn't have mattered to me that they were stupid enough to want to exchange a corrupt group of Britannians for a corrupt group of Chinese-sponsored flunkies. An earlier Lelouch would have sent Kallen to Clovis's negotiations and let her death serve as a warning to the rest of them. But I admit that I'd developed a soft spot for these people over the past month and a half, so I did something I normally would have avoided: I changed tack and argued for neutrality.

As any Britannian prince can tell you, neutrality is a dirty word. It leaves the loser unhappy that you didn't support him and the winner strong enough that he's able to come after you next. This time, though, I was desperate. The motion to stay neutral passed by a single vote—mine. On one hand, it was reassuring that the Black Knights thought of me as one of themselves rather than just an eccentric benefactor. However, the sudden appearance of democratic decisionmaking was…ominous.

I spent the ride back to Tokyo-3 brainstorming ways that I could turn this to my advantage. I decided that I'd _offer_ Clovis the Black Knights' neutrality in return for concessions. After all, he didn't realize that I'd had no choice in the matter.

* * *

_The intruder was still at the door, and judging from his heavy breathing, he was getting hungry. Porky took a few moments to size up his situation: he was trapped in a structurally unsound housing complex, the only exit was blocked, and his Louisville slugger was still buried somewhere in the disheveled stack of boxes that covered the basement floor._

_Did he have allies? Doubtful; the neighborhood watch were notoriously unreliable. At any rate, they were only useful during minor property disputes—hardly the sort of force to take on a wolf unless they had something to gain from doing so. _

_The hammering on the door grew louder and more insistent. _

_Surely, though, there must be __somebody__ whom he could call upon? Someone who owed him a favor, perhaps? What about brother Babe down the street? Yes, his brother was a ne'er-to-well, but Porky had saved Babe's bacon more times than he could count. Moreover, Babe was something of a momma's swine, and Porky was sure that he could use that fact as a lever. Babe wouldn't be able to look his mother in the face if he told her that he'd left Porky to the wolves._

_The banging on the door suddenly stopped, and was replaced by the sound of tearing thatch. A claw jutted through the side of the door. The wolf had finally figured out that he could cut __around__ the door. Curses. That shortened Porky's lead-time considerably…_

* * *

"This story _SUCKS!_" Robin shouted.

I blinked, a little surprised at his reaction.

"You asked for the Three Little Pigs, didn't you?" I said.

Robin stuck his chin out and puckered his fat little face into a scowl. Combined with his curly red hair and the fact that he only had three adult teeth, I can't say that I found the gesture particularly intimidating.

"Bullshit!" he said. "This ain't no Three Little Pigs story!"

Wonderful. Two years old and Milly was already teaching her cousin to talk like a sailor.

"Look, you little caitiff," I said. "I'll tell you what: if you stop speaking to me like that, I'll skip over the Porky v. Wolfstein litigation scene and get straight to the post-conflict agreements."

He gummed his fingers thoughtfully.

"Whatsa caitiff, Looloo?"

"Yes, Lulu…what exactly _is_ a caitiff?" an angry voice behind me demanded.

_Drat. Milly_.

"Err… a position in an Anglo-Saxon court roughly comparable to an Earl?" I guessed.

She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot.

"Not buying it."

"Would you believe that it's a soufflé made with barley that originates in the Provence region?" I said.

"I took a class in French cuisine last semester," she said.

"Um…a breed of cat originating in the Isle of Man characterized by its lack of a tail?"

"That's a Manx, Lulu. And it doesn't even make sense in the context of the conversation."

"Neither does a French soufflé," I said.

"No, but the soufflé gave me the opportunity to show off my knowledge of foreign food."

"Ah."

She walked over to Robin and patted him on the shoulder, cooing about how nasty Prince Lelouch could get. I rolled my eyes and flopped onto the couch. In the hall behind me, high-heeled shoes clacked on the floor. A few seconds later the door swung open to reveal a typically perky Euphemia.

"I just finished the baklava…Robin, what's wrong?"

Euphie rushed over to the petulant toddler faster than Cornelia to a barfight.

"Looloo tolda _stooopid_ story!" Robin whined. "Somethin' about Porky and lawyers when I wanted to hear about three little piggies!"

Euphie tapped her cheek with her fingernails.

"Well, I always _did_ think that Porky launched criminal proceedings prematurely," she said thoughtfully.

I picked up a sticky piece of baklava and took a bite. Euphemia is probably the only noblewoman I know who can out-cook Sayako. I closed my eyes and rolled my tongue over the crispy, honeyed flakes.

_Rebellion? _I thought blissfully._ What Rebellion?_

Milly dragged her reprobate cousin into the kitchen for cookies and milk. I snapped myself back to reality.

"Euphie, you've outdone yourself," I said.

"Thanks, Lelouch. It's very nice of you to say—"

I activated my Geass.

"Now Euphie, I want you to listen to me _very_ carefully…"

* * *

"Nice haircut, Lelouch."

"Shut up."

The computer screen flickered and blurred. I tried to adjust the picture quality and realized that it was my own tired eyes playing tricks on me.

"I'm overworked," I grumbled. "Too many birds in too many bushes."

C.C. _tsk-tsk'ed_.

"Great men are able to _make_ time when they need it," she said.

I rubbed my eyes and did my best to ignore her. After fifteen more fruitless minutes of staring, I turned the computer off and collapsed onto the floor.

"Penny for your thoughts," C.C. said.

I rolled over in my sleeping bag, wondering for the thousandth time how she'd managed to kick me out of my own bed.

"It's nothing," I said.

She shrugged and pulled the covers tighter.

"Suit yourself."

I tossed a few more times. The sleeping bag wrapped around my sweaty legs like a boa constrictor.

_Oh, screw it._

"Did your parents tell you fairy tales as a kid?" I asked.

She raised an eyebrow at that, although her voice carried the same bored note that it usually did.

"I suppose so. It was a long time ago."

I barked out a laugh.

"It can't be _that_ long ago. You're what, sixteen?"

She started to answer and suddenly stopped herself. I made a mental note of that and continued talking to give the impression that her hesitation had passed unnoticed.

"Anyway, I never did," I said.

C.C. stuck her hand in front of her face, palm out, and started checking her nails.

"Do tell," she said.

"We had what they called 'enhanced' fairy tales. The court educators took the old plots and built emotions and mixed motivations into them. And _lots_ of politics. I never heard the original versions."

The right side of her mouth curled into a tiny smile.

"Hmmm…" she said. "Well then…Once upon a time there lived a handsome prince. His father ruled over powerful kingdom, but unlike most fairytale lands, this kingdom was neither happy nor contented_—_"

"Do I look like I'm three years old, witch?" I said.

The smile instantly disappeared, replaced by her usual indifferent mask.

"Hmph. So little Lelouch is too old for fairy tales, is he?"

Perhaps I'd offended her. I wondered if that was even _possible _and finally decided that it would be best to play it safe. Besides, I could use some background noise while I fell asleep.

"It could do with a little more complexity, that's all," I said.

She sighed.

"Oh, very well…"

* * *

_Once upon a time in a world not so different from ours there lived a peasant girl. She wasn't a particularly special girl in any respect that I know of, save perhaps for her beauty. She knew a few letters, could count to twenty without problems, and was as ignorant as any peasant girl could be. She was also enserfed to a wicked and grasping baron, whose name needn't concern us save to note that his name was the same as his father's and grandfather's before him. That was the sort of man he was, you see: a man for whom 'breeding' meant a great deal more than other people._

_Alas, 'breeding' was exactly what he had in mind for the little peasant girl. If this was a proper fairy story—the kind of story that little children are told if they've been very, very good—I'd tell you about how the beautiful peasant girl fled into the forest and took up with a band of dwarfs, or some such silliness. Unfortunately, this is an __adult__ fairy story. What actually happened was that the nobleman took her to his chateau and used her as a concubine for the next few days until her parents were nearly mad with worry. (A concubine, boys and girls, is like a wife, except that you don't need to feed her as much). _

_Many years later, she met a little prince…_

_

* * *

  
_

That was the last thing I heard before I fell asleep.


	8. Turn 8: Lelouch

_Who has the public as a whole for his enemy can never make himself secure; and the greater his cruelty, the weaker does his regime become_

_--Niccolo Machiavelli_

* * *

**Chapter 8: Lelouch**

Pick an adversary and attack. Don't trouble yourself with specific details—any Britannian will do. Pretty easy, isn't it? There are no borders to invade; the battle line is wherever you stand. You might even be Britannian yourself. With so many targets and so many places to hide, you're golden.

Right?

C.C. rolled her eyes.

"Your overconfidence is going to get you killed," she said.

She carelessly tossed the news article into the trash that I'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to coax my printer to spit out. Two inky shirts later, all I had to show for my efforts was an eight word sentence.

"And that would be inconvenient for you, wouldn't it?" I grumbled.

She didn't bother glancing up from her magazine.

"Indeed," she said. "And if you keep pouting, you'll ruin your eyeliner."

_Okay, now __that__ was below the belt._

"Perhaps I should wrap you up again and give you back to Clovis," I retorted.

C.C. made a show of turning the page as deliberately as possible. On hand squeaked along the glossy paper while the other twirled her hair in circles.

"Too bad you're not strong enough to drag me back into the sphere," she said. "By the way, how's the haircut working out?"

"Witch."

"Virgin."

I rose to my feet and pointed triumphantly at her.

"Ha! Now _there_ I have you!"

Her expression changed from mild boredom to mild boredom.

"This should be good," she said.

"I don't see why it's all that surprising," I said. "It's not as if I spent the last eight years of my life in exile somewhere plotting to destroy Britannia."

Was that the germ of a smile I saw?

"Go on, Casanova. Let's hear it."

"Er…"

I thought back to my one and only sexual encounter—well, _near_ encounter—with Milly. It had gone well enough until I'd realized that she intended to spend the whole time chattering (about everything from high school gossip to Keats' poetry, of all things). Naturally, I'd stopped undressing and called the whole thing off. She took it pretty well, although she told me that next time she'd make sure I couldn't escape. I hadn't taken her seriously until I'd discovered a small shoebox labeled "Lelouch" in the student council chambers with ropes and handcuffs in it. Milly can be a bit...odd...sometimes.

(At least, I _think_ it was Milly's. Shirley is too shy to do something like that, and Nina's tastes run more toward Brazilian Rosewood. All I can say is that it better not have been Suzaku's).

"Um…never mind," I said.

C.C. rolled onto her back and propped the magazine over her head.

"Thought so," she said.

Usually, C.C. was more communicative when she was gloating. With that in mind…

"What's wrong with the article?" I asked.

True to form, she finally looked up from the magazine and spared me a brief look.

"Terrorism on the Britannian mainland means nothing. Britannia isn't the EU. Your father has already declared a state of war against the Reformists and outlawed their political party. They'll never get the breathing space to organize."

"I think you underestimate the effect on Britannian morale," I said.

She replied instantly, as if she'd known what I was going to say before I said it.

"No, Lelouch, you _overestimate _it. Charles will eliminate anyone even _hinting_ at unorthodoxy or defeatism. If anything, this will strengthen his position."

"But…"

She shooed me away with her hand.

"Shush. Now run along. You're going to be late for your meeting with the Kyoto people."

"I'm never late," I said.

"Too bad I don't care enough to argue."

* * *

_Charles smiles at me, and I don't mean Father. Dad would never smile at me, not even when I beat my siblings in chess. This is my brother, Charles II—all of us call him Charles Two. Soon, I'll have to say "we __called__ him Charles Two." Not yet, though. It's the same smile that he used to wear when he played with me. How old was I then? Two? Three? I don't remember. He looks a lot like an older Schniezel, who's in his early teens at this point._ _I'm six, if you're wondering._

_He's not alone. Charles Two is flanked by his "friends". I don't like the look of them. These are the men who asked him to rebel, and now they don't want to pay the price of failure. They cry and plead with Dad to let them go. "Please," they say, "it was your son who made us do it! He fooled us! Let us come back."_

_It makes me want to puke._

_Dad isn't moved, and I don't blame him. Charles Two doesn't budge; he doesn't cry or scream or beg. Instead, he stands like a prince of Britannia __should__ stand—the way he told me to stand if my own turn comes someday like it came for him. __Is__ coming for him. Tall, proud Charles. _

_The trap door under his feet snaps open, and that's a wrap._

_

* * *

  
_

"Zero? You awake?"

The first thing that I became aware of was the humidity inside my helmet. I felt stifled, as if someone had crammed my head into a pipe and was waiting for me to suffocate. I looked around. We were sitting in the darkened interior of a limousine, with all of its windows covered in curtains. The overall effect was similar to a hearse. Kallen sat opposite from me, her elbows squashed into her thighs as she edged forward with a concerned look on her face. Tamaki leaned back, cross-legged, affecting boredom. Ohgi's broad-shouldered bulk squashed me against the car door.

An image flitted through my mind of Kallen standing by me on the stocks, ready to take her turn with the hangman. Then I pictured her as a soldier in an endless war—one that would come if my schemes got out of control. Both times, I shuddered.

_Hmmm…_

I asked myself whether I'd reached the point that all Britannian princes eventually come to—when it's no longer possible to excuse your attachment to a girl by saying you're using her for political purposes.

_Well, Lelouch? How about it?_

Me:_ Um… perhaps it's an adaptive thing…For instance, let's say that, um…that I suddenly lost all attachment to my troops. That wouldn't be very practical, now would it? And Kallen's one of my soldiers, after all…admittedly, I want to protect her life more than the others, but that's only because…_

_Drat._

"I'm awake," I said.

And a good thing, too—a few moments later and I would have been asleep when the doors finally opened.

They led us into a room with red metal columns and a wonderful view of the Sakuradite strip-mining facility on Mount Fuji. A figure sat on the other end of the hall, watching us through a flimsy silk curtain. From his shadow, I guessed that he was dressed in traditional robes . He was in his sixties or seventies, the withered remnant of an older generation of Japanese who'd seen the conquest come when they were already in the Autumn of their years.

It was all very symbolic, or something.

He apparently thought so as well, because he yammered on for a stretch about the rape of Japan and the tragedy of Mount Fuji being mined by evil _gaijin_ like myself (if only he knew). I mumbled a few pleasantries and tried to steer the conversation toward business as quickly as possible, since I had the sneaking suspicion that he was planning to unmask me. I had to move quickly. My first plan had involved sneaking into knightmare while C.C. impersonated me, but that was before I'd realized that I intended to show my face to Taizo anyway. So here I was, a victim of reality's insensitivity to drama.

C.C.'s right. Perhaps I _do _complain too much.

"Taizo Kirihara," I said. "Are you familiar with the fable of the monkey master?"

He sputtered something to the effect of "How do you know my name?" I didn't catch all of it, mostly because it was predictable and I was more interested in telling my story than in listening to a reaction I'd already rehearsed in my head a hundred times.

"Once upon a time," I began, "an old man owned a group of monkeys. Every day, he ordered them to gather fruit for him from the branches of a gnarled tree. Whenever a monkey failed, the old man would beat it. This went on for several years, until…"

"Who _are_ you?!" he demanded.

"I'm getting to that. _Ahem._ Anyway, one day the youngest monkey went to his brothers and asked them why they continued to pick fruit for the barmy old codger. He pointed out that the fruit grew without the old man's help, and that they could pick it any time they wanted. Why should they give him anything? The other monkeys immediately saw the truth in his words, and that night they left with all of the old man's stored fruit. Within a week, he starved to death."

"Who are you, and what on earth does that story have to do with—"

"The End," I said.

"What?"

"I realized that I'd forgotten the most important part. Sorry. You were saying?"'

You're probably wondering why I was antagonizing one of the most powerful men in Japan. There are several answers to that, but the most important ones are probably my own love of the dramatic and the fact that as long as Taizo was intrigued, he wouldn't scream for my mask to be ripped off.

"I want this clown's mask off. NOW!"

_Then again…_

"Wait!" I said. "I have no objection to showing myself to you, but let me explain my story first."

The seated figure behind the curtains shifted a few times and tapped his wooden staff against the floor.

"Very well, but make it brief."

The guards behind me relaxed a smidgeon and backed off.

"Excellent. As I see it, the Japanese people are in the same position as the monkeys in the story—"

"YOU'RE CALLING US MONKEYS?!" he roared.

I slapped a palm on my faceplate.

"Metaphor, Taizo…Metaphor. My point is that Britannian power rests on the consent of their people—their subjects _and_ their soldiers. Without it, they're just a clever family with incest issues. As I see it, they don't have many tools at their disposal."

He chortled. It was a deep, throaty sound.

"And I suppose a world-spanning empire doesn't count?" he said.

"No, it doesn't. That empire isn't an asset, but an _acquisition_ that they manage to control thanks to other assets."

"Such as?"

I shrugged and started ticking them off on my fingers.

"You could probably name them yourself. There's the Emperor's legitimacy, but that's only important in Britannia proper. Most Numbers couldn't care less about Social Darwinism. Then there are the human resources—genetically enhanced noblemen, Britannian commoners who want promotions, and collaborators like you."

A growl came from behind the silk. I held up a hand.

"Don't worry. I know it's a ruse on your part. In any event, the Emperor also has the help of technicians like Lloyd and the Social Physicists, the business classes, the police and military. The latter two, aren't givens, though."

"Ha! That's rich. I suppose you think they'd be willing to turn around and fight him?" he said.

"Under the right circumstances, yes."

A few of the guards openly scoffed at this. Even the more respectful among them lowered and shook their heads.

"They're too happy killing Japanese 'terrorists' right now to turn on the Emperor," Taizo said.

"You know, Taizo, repression is a funny thing. It doesn't always get people to obey you like they used to if you use it too often. Do you know why the EU's free right now?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Zero. The EU is free because two hundred years ago, the last Emperor—"

"WRONG!" I shouted. "The EU is free because its people are willing to resist attempts to enslave them."

I pulled a book from my cape with a flourish and tossed it toward Taizo's cushioned cubby-hole.

"That's a list of every major component of civil society left in Japan after the _Keiretsu _and labor unions were destroyed. The Britannian dictatorship thrives by convincing the individual that he's isolated—a tactic that's been especially effective in Japan because of its traditional cohesion. I want you to fund and strengthen as many of these institutions as possible. Especially the unions"

A collective murmur passed through the room.

"You want the unions to _fight_?" Taizo said.

"Who said anything about fighting? I said mobilize. It's about time the Britannian industrialists got a little resistance for once," I said.

"Zero, perhaps you haven't noticed, but unions are illegal."

"Taizo, so is terrorism."

I nodded to Kallen. She unraveled a poster showing a serious, angular-faced Japanese man with his brows knit and eyes closed. The moths had clearly been at his cotton shirt and pants, both marked with blue stripes and a number. Kallen held the image above her head and pivoted like a ring-card girl at a boxing match so that everyone could see. Gasps, moans, and a few shouts of horror followed.

"We received this picture from our informants at thirteen hundred hours this afternoon," I said, loudly enough that everyone could hear. "Kyoshiro Tohdoh has been captured by Britannian security forces. The JLF is _finished._ Old fashioned terrorism is as dead as the Four Holy Swords. From now on, I recommend you confine yourselves to peaceful protests and leave the terrorism to _me_."

"But imagine the casualties!"

I waved my hand dismissively.

"I'd give you the old saw about an omelette and breaking eggs, but I don't think that would translate into Japanese," I said. "To answer your concern, _yes_, there will be casualties. But soon—sooner than you think—the creeping rot will start to sink in. And once Britannia leaves, you'll be glad you built a strong civil society instead of a massive terrorist network."

Every eye in the room had become fixed on me. I realized that I was preening my cape like a peacock. It took a mighty effort of will, but I managed to stop myself.

"Yes, you heard me correctly," I said. "_'After Britannia leaves'._ You didn't think about that, did you? What happens when the government vanishes and you're left with a bunch of revolutionaries and murderers as your leaders? And that, Taizo, is why I don't want your money. In fact, I'm not taking a red cent of it. But I'd still be _very_ glad to show you my face…"

* * *

The ride home was much lighter and more cheerful than the trip there. Geassing Taizo had seen to that, if nothing else. Fortunately, the room had been dark, smoky, and covered in shadows. None of the Black Knights had seen me—which was good news for a certain redhead's hemorrhaging conscience.

I could see Kallen's face much better in the sunlight.

"Zero, I've been thinking," she said.

"I can see that."

"When you said that power rests on the consent of the governed…that's easy for us to say. I mean, we're at the top of the food chain. I don't think it's an option for your average Japanese who has to deal with totalitarian—"

I held up a hand.

"Stop right there," I said. "Britannia is anything _but_ totalitarian."

"But…"

"Totalitarian states infiltrate every civil organization they can," I said. "Britannia does the opposite: it illegalizes them and relies on economics to do the rest. But you're right about one thing--Britannia relies on force just like a totalitarian state. Unfortunately, you can't use force against _all_ of your citizens _all _of the time."

She shrugged and held her palms out apologetically.

"Hey, I'm just a soldier," she said. "I know it must be a pain answering these questions."

She smiled weakly and turned to the window to watch the seagulls fly across the bay.

"It's only proper that my chosen successor understand what I'm doing," I said.

Kallen's head snapped away from the window.

"WHAT?!"

* * *

My brother Albert was the first Britannian in history to shoot himself from across a football field. My grandfather, Lawrence vi Britannia, dissected himself to death in front of a closed-circuit television audience. At the tender age of eight, my great-uncle Bertrand di Britannia built a decompression chamber out of spare parts from the palace ventilation system and used it to blow himself to bits.

I'm not telling you these things to amuse you (although they _are _kinda funny if your sense of humor runs that way), but to make a point. What I'm getting at is that depression, genius, and eccentricity rub shoulders a lot in my family. You'd think that I'd be prepared for what I saw in Kamakura.

I had no idea.

There should be a special word added to the Britannian language to describe the weirdness that seeped out of the walls of that place. I'm a fairly articulate guy (thank you, tutors!), but I don't think that I can adequately express _exactly_ what it was that creeped me out. It wasn't the obvious things—Nana's artificial limbs, the bloodstains from "experiments", the unnatural cleanliness, the odd growths coming out of Director Kakuzawa's head…

Okay, fine. Maybe those things contributed, but there was something else about the place that felt uncanny and alien. As I sat in the control room and watched the medal-bedecked Royal Guards steal glances around their shoulders, I knew that I was right to feel edgy. Clovis gripped his commander's chair as if he expected it to sprout legs and carry him to the Otherworld. Even Cornelia seemed spooked.

_The sooner we get out of here…_

"Got her, Sir."

_Phew. Just on time._

I looked at the screen. Through the green-and-black nightvision of a security camera, I saw a something float across the Kamakura tarmac. It was thinner and bonier than any person I'd ever seen.

It was Lucy.

Cornelia stomped over to the targeting display in long, quick steps. In an instant, her eyes swept over the crosscrossed 3D lines that looked for all the world like an antique video game. I knew what she saw when she scanned that screen, because I saw the same thing: soldiers, huddled in their knightmares, awaiting the order to move their machines through the cold night.

Then my sister, the Goddess of Victory, rapped out her orders.

"Second and third battalions, engage directly and attempt to capture. Third battalion, I want a flanking maneuver along the low ridge to your right. Keep at least two other knightmares with you at all times—I don't want any gaps."

I flicked my direct-feed glasses on to watch the action firsthand. Three seconds later, I noticed my body had relaxed considerably. Two seconds after that, I realized why: even the anticipation of deadly combat wasn't as unsettling as the struggle to avoid looking at the knobs growing from Kakuzawa's forehead.

A voice buzzed over the com system.

"Sir, approaching the target. She isn't moving, and…"

He was interrupted by a terrific bang and a stream of expletives from most of his battalion mates. My own knightmare—or rather, the man whose eyes I was watching the battle through—swung his head from side to side to find the source of the noise. Then he lurched forward.

The camera's viewscreen began gyrating wildly. I realized what was happening faster than the pilot: "someone's" metal claws had caught his knightmare from behind, and he was wriggling like a bug on a sharpened stick. In a few seconds, Rakshata's radiant wave surger would pulse through his knightmare's body and destroy it from the inside out.

_So this is what it looks like to die in knightmare combat…_

"Hail the glorious dead," I muttered.

Out of respect for the soon-to-be fallen, I switched the glasses to another pilot.

It took only thirty seconds for my new viewscreen to switch off. This time, Kallen's surger did its work quickly.

_Well done, Pilot Kozuki_.

I switched again.

CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK

Bedwyr's battalion gone.

CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK

Avery's battalion gone.

CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK

Roderick's battalion…

"Guilford, what's going on?" Cornelia shouted.

"I…can't be sure, milady."

CLICKCLICKCLICK--

I finally got somebody. He was skating along Kamakura's main street in full retreat, with a companion on each side. All three fired at the humanoid shadows sweeping around a corner behind them. Britannian bullets chipped chunks of cement from the building, but didn't hit anything else. This lot was done for. They were outnumbered, isolated, and up against opponents who'd been drilling this attack for weeks in their new simulators. I didn't bother watching the ending.

"BLACK KNIGHTS!" Guilford yelled. "It's the Black Knights, marm!"

Cornelia snarled triumphantly and slammed her fist on the com line.

"Enough with the 'marm' stuff, Guilford. I've warned you before about addressing me like Queen Victoria. Now here's what I want you to do…"

It was genuinely amazing to watch the life flow back into her. I'd thought that the halls of Kamakura and the unusual nature of the mission had reduced Cornelia to a jumpy, second-rate commander. Now she had something in front of her that she understood.

_Enjoy it while it lasts, Sister._

I switched the viewscreen to a member of Guilford's battalion. The difference from what I'd seen before was like night and day. Watching him was like seeing an expert player in a shooter game on fast-forward. I couldn't tell which was faster—the man, or the targeting computer. Fortunately, his adversaries had better reflexes than I do. It was almost beautiful to watch them swing from building to building like a group of synchronized apes. They knew every nook and cranny of Kamakura, and used it to their advantage.

…But they were being pushed back. I switched off my viewscreen to get a look at the main combat map. It confirmed what I'd feared--the blue-and-yellow Britannian units were slowly encircling the "enemy" sigils.

"So predictable," Cornelia smirked. "Well done, Guilford."

In my defense, this _was_ my first night action. All the tactical theory in the world is no match for experience. "Predictable," however, is not in my vocabulary.

_Time for the fun to begin._

At my signal, Kakuzawa leaped from his station and entered a twelve digit code into the control system. The doors behind us slammed shut and sirens blared all around us. "Loud enough to raise the dead" would describe it pretty well, except that I suspect that the sheer creepiness of Kamakura would discourage any revenants from coming back for a second helping.

"Kakuzawa! WHAT DID YOU DO!?" Cornelia roared.

"I…don't know…"

He looked from Cornelia to the keyboard and back again. The color drained from his face.

"Oh _no_…"

"Your majesty!" one of the technicians yelled. "Take a look at this!"

Every eye in the room turned back to the map. One by one, the blue-and-yellow symbols on our left flank vanished.

"What did you do to my command and control system, Kakuzawa!?"

It would have been fun to watch Kakuzawa squirm a little more, but that would have prevented me from acting like the only clearheaded man on the bridge. I suspected that this footage would make its way back to Dad at some point, and I wanted to look as competent as possible. I pretended to consult the electronic operator's manual.

"Cornelia?" I said.

"What?!"

"It's not your command and control system. Kakuzawa's released the Diclonii."

The predatory smile instantly collapsed.

"How many?"

"All of them."

She nearly bowled me over in her rush to the control board. For the next minute, all we heard was the sound of furious clicking and screamed orders. Pink diclonius symbols flickered into existence on the screen. Cornelia took a few moments to observe their deployment—if you could call a horde of scattered fugitives a "deployment"—and then plotted an attack route for her reserve regiment.

She was muttering something.

"You can still win this, Cornelia. Keep going. Come on. This is do-able. Ha! I had worse in Area 18. I can do this…"

She said all of this, and much more besides, at top speed in a near-whisper. Picture a quiet auctioneer and you'll get a pretty good idea. The scary thing was that she was right—she _could_ do this. Even as I watched, the encirclement of the Black Knights resumed and the Diclonius sigils started vanishing.

"Yahahahaha! Nice knowing you, Zero! Guilford--they're attempting a breakout in Sector B17. I want that salient closed _immediately_! Phillips, how are you coming with the Diclonii? What? Good! _Excellent_! Keep at a distance—they're just as likely to attack each other as any of your men. Walters…"

A very familiar face appeared on the main screen. I allowed myself to exhale. Cornelia stopped her flood of orders and addressed him in a half-singsong, half-screech that gave me flashbacks of her Sweet Sixteen party.

"Zero! So good of you to join us. Surrendering anytime soon, or would you like me to kill more of your men first?"

"Actually, I was wondering when you'd decide to start losing," Zero replied. "I think anytime between now and now would be apropos."

Cornelia leaned forward, over the head of a seated technician. (Lucky bastard).

"Still the comedian, I see. Very well, Zero. We'll kill your army and—"

Zero fluttered to one side in a half-pirouette to reveal a woman duct-taped to a chair. I noted with satisfaction that C.C. imitated my gestures _much_ better than Lucy had.

"Euphie!" Clovis, Cornelia and I shouted simultaneously.

"You were saying?" Zero taunted.

Clovis gaped. Cornelia shook like a tree in the wind. Her lips were moving, but nothing came out. And I?

I was the calm in the storm, naturally.

"What do you want?" I said, squeezing as much authority into my voice as I could.

Zero/C.C. tapped his/her chin.

"Well, I have a lovely little ambush set up in Sector F-17. If you could order, oh, say seventy percent of your remaining troops in there, I would _really_ appreciate it."

Cornelia found her voice again—and how.

"Here's another offer, Zero: let Euphie go now and I won't TORTURE YOU TO DEATH! D'YOU HEAR ME YOU SON OF A BITCH?! I DON'T DEAL WITH TERRORISTS! NOW TAKE YOUR FILTHY ELEVEN HANDS OFF MY SISTER!"

Flecks of saliva were flying in all directions now. I took a moment to dab my uniform with a handkerchief. My nonchalance, however, was nothing compared to my impersonator's. Zero shrugged and turned to Ohgi.

"All right, then. Start breaking her fingers."

Cornelia shrieked and looked around wildly—presumably for something to throw at the screen.

"Wait a moment," Zero said.

Cornelia's breath caught in her throat and she immediately turned her attention back to the screen. Tension drained from her shoulders. It's a reaction you see a lot in the Britannian royal family—unlike most children, our temper tantrums usually _got_ us somewhere, and even after years of retraining, we're still conditioned to expect everything to be OK after throwing a fit. Cornelia more than most, obviously.

"Good decision," she said. "We could have just surgically repaired her hands anyway. Now—"

"My thoughts exactly," Zero said. "Clearly, we need something more permanent than a few smashed fingers. Broken legs, on the other hand…those make you ineligible as a marriage partner, do they not?"

Zero motioned to Ohgi to begin, and I was graced with a sight that the world hadn't witnessed for years—Cornelia open-mouthed and speechless, completely paralyzed with indecision. She turned back to me like a lost child. For the first time in my life, I _almost_ felt sorry for her. The hammer swung downward….

"STOP!" I yelled.

Ohgi pulled the blow short. Zero's head tilted toward me and then to one side.

"We'll negotiate," I said.

I ordered everyone aside from Clovis and Cornelia off the bridge, although one or two of the Royal Guards looked to Cornelia for confirmation. She nodded numbly. Frazzled as she was, she knew it would be bad for morale to let her Guard hear us sell out their comrades-in-arms. After they left, Zero turned to Cornelia again.

"Time's wasting, Majesty. My men can't hold forever."

Cornelia chewed her lip until it bled. I could see her weighing the options—her stance on terrorism versus her sister's life. Duty versus family. Quaint juxtaposition though it was, I decided to simplify things for her.

"Cornelia?" I said.

Perhaps it was the unexpected gentleness of my voice that got her attention. Whatever it was, she responded more calmly than I'd expected.

"Yes, Lelouch?"

"Right about now you're probably asking yourself whether your sister's life is worth betraying the Empire, correct?"

She nodded. I had to work _very_ hard not to grin.

"You're not thinking this through," I said. "Euphie represents a century and a half of selective breeding. She's one of the twenty or thirty individuals who ARE Britannia—the Britannian royal house. Objectively speaking, her life is worth a lot more than two knightmare regiments."

"But my men…" Cornelia said.

"Your men," I replied, "are sworn to serve Britannia. Us. It's their duty to sacrifice their lives to protect their rulers."

Cornelia leaned over the console and rubbed a white glove across her face.

"Guilford would never forgive me," she whispered.

"Am I to understand that you'd sell out your sister _and_ your country for a boyfriend?" I said.

The emotions vanished, and Cornelia became Cornelia again.

"Make the deal," she growled.

You're probably wondering why a genetically engineered genius like Cornelia was so easy to manipulate. I'd like to say that I'm just that darn good, but that would be arrogant even by my standards. The _real _reason is that I cheated. Cornelia never had a chance to display her tactical abilities because I'd grabbed one of the people she loved. In a fair fight, who knows what would have happened?

...And now you know why I'm so protective of Nunnally.

* * *

I pressed my face against the glass. On the other side, a girl stared blindly ahead from beneath white sheets. She must have weighed less than seventy pounds--and that includes the weight of the dirt that was caked onto her body. Her hair clumped into filthy mats so that it was almost impossible to guess the original color. When she saw me--though perhaps "noticed" would be a better word, since her eyes didn't move from the point a few feet ahead of her--her body swayed back and forth as if she was in a trance.

Worse than all that, though...

"What did you do to her horns, witch?"

C.C. leaned against the wall and raised an eyebrow.

"Rather touchy about a sentient weapon, aren't we?" she said.

"I just want to make sure you didn't spoil her usefulness to me. I read the reports--her horns are tied in with her telekinetic abilities. If you've ruined a perfectly good assassin..."

She rolled her eyes. Strangely, her fists were balled and her jaw had tightened. Was it possible that she was worried? Doubtful. I put it down to good acting skills.

"It's not as if you could do anything to me," she said. "Besides, they grow back, like fingernails. You'd remember that if you weren't so emotionally invested."

"I'm just concerned about a subordinate," I shot back.

"Stupidity by a different name is still stupidity," she said. "I won't allow you to live in close proximity with someone so dangerous before you fulfill your contract. It was either the horns or the head."

"And you call _me_ ruthless?"

"I can recognize a fellow practitioner," she said. "Do you still insist on allowing her to live with you?"

"Yes," I said. Admittedly, it was more from stubbornness than a well thought-out plan.

"Then perhaps it's time to remind you of a few things."

Before I realized what was going on, C.C. leaned in and gave me a small peck on the lips.

"What the...?!"

She smiled wryly and muttered something about impulsive mistakes. I gave a disgusted little snort and pushed through the double doors. C.C. or no C.C., I needed to find out whether my volunteer-assassin-slash-long-lost-friend was all right. Let the witch think what she liked. As I entered the room, Lucy's eyes swiveled toward me. The rest of the head didn't move at all, making the whole thing look a little like one of those cat clocks. I also noticed that she was humming something.

_Da-da-daaaaaa-da_

_Da-da-daaaa...da-da-da-daaaaa_

I remembered...

I _remembered_ her!

And just like that, my life became a lot more complicated.

* * *

_General Order #4334_

_CONCERNING HAIRDRESSERS_

_In order to encourage Britannian soldiery to interact with their Eleven subjects, all officers and men are forthwith required to patronize ONLY Eleven hairdressers and barbers. All barbers of Britannian extraction will be expelled from Area Eleven._

_All Hail Britannia!_


	9. Turn 9: Lucy

_Unlike most recreational drugs, Refrain relies upon existing sensory experience to stimulate the user's pleasure centers. It cannot operate outside of the boundaries set by real life. Therein lies its weakness…_

--Lelouch Lamperouge, "Treatment of Refrain Addicts", Journal of Britannian Psychiatry, 2029 a.t.b.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Lucy**

_I look at the bank and breathe in and out a few times in anticipation. Only a couple men sit around me—pathetically few compared to the Britannian military. We're going to attack. There's no reason to worry; we have the element of surprise. I order them to recite the escape routes one more time. Most of them are locals, so I don't expect many problems. They know the terrain better than the police._

"_Are you sure that the money's gonna be there, Zero?"_

_Hyuga's voice is prodding, insolent. _

"_Our informants told us that the truck is arriving today," I say. "They also told us that you're a traitor."_

_Hyuga pales. He tries to sputter a denial. His tongue catches in his throat. Not because he's scared, but because my vectors hold it there. _

"_Hyuga, is this true?"Kimura says._

_I keep my grip on his tongue—not enough to damage it, because I'll need it in a few seconds._

"_He's half Britannian," I say. "One of the halfbreed spies they raised to prep for the invasion."_

"_It can't be true!"_

_I let go of Hyuga's tongue and punch him in the gut. He screams—with a Britannian accent. Kimura's eyes widen. I grab Hyuga's hair and slam his head against the back of the seat._

"_We don't have time to hang him from a lamppost right now," I say. "You know what to do."_

_Kimura wraps a garrote around Hyuga's neck and pulls. I hold his legs down to make sure he doesn't smash up the car after we've spent so much time stealing it. When it's done, we pull into a convenient alley. I order Kimura and Maeda to stuff him into a dumpster while I kick my feet up on the dashboard and read the newspaper. Lelouch told me to keep up with current events. He sometimes quizzes me to make sure I've done my research, and I don't want to disappoint him._

_After the garbage is disposed of, we park the car in front of the bank. As I open the window, I hear snatches of dozens of conversations that an earlier Lucy would have ignored. My new job has made me more observant. It's a double blessing, since it gives me insight into Lelouch's world. A young couple plans to go on vacation. A businessman doesn't like Britannian tea. Two Britannians argue about the terrorist problem. _

_Everybody stops talking when they see me. Gasps and screams follow as people trample each other to escape. A man knocks a little girl to the ground. I hear a light tap as her head hits the pavement, and when she gets up again her nose is dripping with blood and snot. I push her out of the way with my vectors and cut the man's head off._

_We crash through the bank's glass doors bristling with submachine guns and slum-born aggression. Only half the normal compliment of bank guards awaits us—the other half are at lunch for another half hour. We drop them before they have a chance to reach their guns._

_Britannian shouts fill the room. Fujisawa shoves the customers into kneeling positions. Our informant, a Japanese janitor named Ishii, pretends to be as terrified as the rest of them. As everything slides into place, I nearly jump for joy: For the first time in my life, everybody's dancing to __my__ tune. __I__ have chosen the time and place to attack._

_You have no idea how wonderful that feels._

_We empty the safe, cut the phone system, and collect the Britannians' cell phones to prevent any of them from calling the authorities. It's a hassle to search them all, so we offer them a simple choice instead: turn over a cell phone or get shot. Only two of them don't comply. Afterward, we search the bodies and find that one of them actually __didn't__ have a cell phone._

"_Get with the information age," I say._

_We load the truck with the money and weapons and we scram. Ichihara keeps us covered from a hotel window. As soon as we've piled into our souped-up getaway truck, he'll escape on his bicycle. I look down and take an inventory of our haul. I do a rough calculation. This is going to allow the insurgents in the countryside to buy three or four new knightmares from the Chinese. IF I can get it to the insurgents, that is._

_The police radio announces that a robbery's been committed. Shit. They're faster than I thought. They'll close down the tunnel a few blocks ahead. _

"_Turn right at the next street," I say._

"_But Zero, that street is closed for repairs!"_

_SHIT! The map I studied must have been an older edition._

"_Turn left!" I shout._

_The wheels screech and the centrifugal force rudely pushes me against the door. The nearest police station is forty blocks away. Heavy traffic will give us enough time to escape._

…_Or not. I hear a loud chorp-chorp-chorp sound coming from the back seat and spin around to see what the matter is. Bullets are the matter—lots of them. The police cars behind us are turning the back seat into Swiss cheese._

_Fujisawa fires back at them. Without moving from my crouching position, I light a Molotov cocktail and use my vectors to hold it out the window. Using the rearview mirror to take careful aim, I lob it at the windshield. The front portion of the police car erupts in flames. It spins out of control and smashes into an apartment building._

_Fujisawa shoots the tires out from the next one. Then somebody from the third car shoots him. His body crumples to the floor of the car._

"_There's a helicopter!" someone yells._

_I look up and realize that he's right. No problem. They'll have to land if they want to arrest us. We'll hit them with an RPG long before that. I press the button on my walkie-talkie._

"_Hikaru, now's the time."_

_A stolen garbage truck lurches out of an alleyway and slams into the lead police car. So much for our pursuers. We head for an empty lot a few blocks south—the weakest point in the cordon. The helicopter's blades still whirr overhead, but I'm not worried. The car jerks to a stop._

"_Ditch the car," I say._

"_Police!" _

_Aoba's right. Several cars' worth of police are crammed into the end of the block. Some of them have high-caliber weapons—powerful enough to pierce my vectors. Kimura and Aoba take off as soon as they see what's happening. Maeda sits in the driver's seat, frozen stiff._

_Idiot!_

"_We can't leave without Maeda!" Kimura shouts._

_I feel a sudden surge of fear. I've taken Maeda along against my better judgment. He showed all the signs of indecisiveness—he couldn't complete basic tasks quickly, was forgetful, easily confused, and fell behind during our practice runs. Now he was going to get me killed. I'd never see Lelouch again. _

_Think fast, Lucy._

"_I'll get him!" I yell._

_I run back until I'm within a few feet of Maeda. His face suddenly brightens as he sees me coming to rescue him. _

"_Zero! You—"_

_I put a vector through his head and turn around to follow the others. We need to get to the abandoned subway station as quickly as possible. Our legs pound the sidewalk. Even my genetically enhanced lungs are burning by now. I wonder how the humans can maintain their pace. Behind me, I hear the clip-clop of horseshoes on concrete. I spare a glance over my shoulder. We're being chased by mounted police._

"_You've got to be kidding me…"_

_My vectors reach into my coat and pull out four pistols. Without turning around, I empty all four magazines in what I hope is a broad field of fire. I'm rewarded by a "thud-shleesh" as a horse hits the pavement and slides across it. The others try to wheel their terrified mounts around the carnage. I'm ready for them. My vectors unzip my backpack and empty hundreds of marbles and homemade caltrops onto the ground behind me. _

_More thuds and animal screams follow. I smile and enter the tunnel. _

_Later, Lelouch yells at me for endangering myself like that. I try to look remorseful, but inside I'm singing. He __does__ care about me._

_He __does__._

_

* * *

  
_

I woke up. Whatever I'd been pumping into my bloodstream over the past few weeks was starting to wear off. I'd directed my metabolism to store some Refrain in my fat cells, but even that was starting to run out. I needed a fix, and soon.

_Where am I again?_

I looked around. A chipper-looking brass alarm clock beamed at me from the bedside table. A leather jacket was draped across the chair a few feet away. Even in this condition, I could detect Lelouch's smell all over it.

_Oh. Right. Lelouch's house. Does that mean…?_

I reached up to feel my horns. My hands swept past empty air and met in the middle of my head.

_So that wasn't a nightmare after all._

I could have cried at the irony of it all: I'd just lost the things that had isolated me from the rest of humanity just when I needed them.

_Wait. The __rest__ of humanity? Since when do I—_

I heard voices in the hallway.

"Weakening already, are we?"

"Not necessarily."

"Hmph. It's funny, really: one little kiss and you go all to pieces like the hormonal teenage boy you are."

"I'm in full possession of my faculties, witch."

"Oh? And I suppose it's just a coincidence that you're starting to question your judgment _after_ your lip-lock in the park with Shirley?"

"That has nothing to do with it! It's the fact that Shirley's father was killed, not that—"

"How many_ other_ people's fathers have you killed without batting an eyebrow?"

"Shirley's a friend."

"It sounds to me like she's a lot more than _that."_

"It's not only Shirley. I just found out today that Suzaku's joined the Lancelot project."

"So talk him out of it."

"Have you _met_ Suzaku?!"

"Poor little boy. All your friends are growing up."

"There's more. Villeta Nu has been asking questions about me. I think she remembers me from Shinjuku."

"So kill her."

"Brilliant idea. I can't _believe_ I didn't think of that, except…oh, wait a moment! Now I remember. _You just put my best assassin out of action for weeks_."

"Speaking of whom…"

"I'm not going to kill her while she's helpless, if that's what you're getting at."

"So you're going to let her heal up before killing her?"

The voices seemed familiar, but I drifted back into my past before I could recognize them. The filter that had kept unpleasant memories from bubbling to the surface was starting to wear thin.

* * *

_A welt is already forming on my stomach. By morning, it'll be a bruise the size of a basketball. In a week, it'll be gone and the whole process will start again. The metal ball bounces off the floor with a cheerful 'ping!'. _

"_Please! No more!" I beg._

_Kurama's glasses flash from behind the glass partition. He strokes his chin and crooks his finger to one of the lab assistants. I've seen her before. She's a brown-haired woman with two left feet who's always smiling and dropping his coffee. Always perky. Of all the humans in Kamakura, I hate her the most. If I ever get out of here, that bitch will be the first to go._

_They talk for a few seconds, and then Kurama leans into the microphone._

"_Increase to three hundred joules."_

* * *

"NOOO!"

I was in Lelouch's room, doused in sweat and clinging to the mattress like a life preserver. The alarm clock still ticked beside my bed.

_I need to get out of here. _

It was no use trying to push myself up with my vectors. I'd had my horns amputated once before as part of the Kamakura "experiments", and knew that it would be weeks before I could regrow them enough to use my powers. I tried to push myself up with my arms, but my stomach muscles cramped violently. I spent the next few minutes crumpled into a ball. Slowly, they softened again. This time, I was careful to move slowly. I managed to drag my body to the bathroom.

The faucet handle creaked as I turned it. My wrist seized up, so I had to push it with my entire arm. Water finally came out, and I leaned my mouth into the stream and drank greedily. After I'd had my fill, I lowered myself to the floor and waited for the water to hydrate the rest of my body.

I clenched a fist. It didn't spasm. Good.

_Time to go._

Before I left, I opened the medicine cabinet. I couldn't afford to leave my injuries untreated like I had last time. I was surprised to find that Lelouch's shelves were packed with medicine. Bottles of Dimetapp jostled against a giant tub of extra-strength Tylenol. Another bottle nestled in the back caught my eye. I popped the lid open. It was filled with small, circular pills with a "v" shape cut in the middle. I picked one up and put it on my tongue. My metabolism processed it rapidly, and I felt the tension drain from my muscles. Whatever it was, it relaxed me. Had Lelouch left it there for me, or was it for his own use? Better safe than sorry. I put them back and shut the cabinet with a soft _click._

Back in Lelouch's room, I looked for something—anything—that I could wear that wouldn't tie him to me. He'd prepared well. Aside from the nightie that I was already wearing, all of the clothes had been removed. I had enough water in my system now that I could spare a sentimental tear. Poor, misguided Lelouch. Still trying to save me.

Never mind. I'd find the green haired girl and take her clothes. Even without my vectors, I was pretty sure that I could kill her. Again.

I crept to her room a couple paces down the hall. Aside from a few torn Pizza Hut coupons and an unmade bed, there was no sign that she'd ever been there. I rifled through the closet and came up blank—its only contents were two Cheese-kun dolls and an extra pair of shoes.

_All right. I'll just have to use Lelouch's clothes_.

"Where are you going, Lucy?"

Lelouch leaned against the hallway's far wall, barring my path out of C.C.'s room with his arm.

"I _need_ to go," I said. "Every second I stay I'll be a danger to you."

He removed his arm from the wall and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Is that really why you're doing this?"

"Yes."

He gave me a sharp look.

"And it has nothing to do with wanting more Refrain?" he said.

"Yes…No…I mean, yes, that's right. It has nothing to do with Refrain."

"Somehow, Lucy, I find that hard to believe."

My other self tugged at my elbow. Her single unbandaged eye burned with hatred as she stared at the boy blocking our path. She didn't need to say anything; I knew what was on her—our?—mind.

_I can't stay with you, Lelouch. You need me as far away from you as possible._

My voice hardened.

"Get out of my way," I said.

His head tilted to the side, studying me.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Lucy."

I felt my lips curl into a snarl. My hands clasped together in front of me as if they were wringing an imaginary neck.

"If you don't get out of my way, you're going to regret it."

_Did I just say…? No. No no no no no no!_

"Don't make me do this again," I whispered.

_But he leaves you no choice!_ a voice snapped._ The stupid human won't get out of the way._

_He's not just some stupid human! I love him!_

_Love?_ _Love?! __Ha! Is that why you're threatening him?_

_But…But you __made__ me…_

_Did I?_

Lelouch stepped back and looked me up and down a few times. I suddenly became painfully aware that my horns were gone. I could still move him aside if I had to…couldn't I?

_You can do MORE than that! You can wrap your hands around his chicken neck and squeeze until—_

"All right, Lucy. Go ahead."

He slid to one side of the hallway and pointed through the door like an usher. My head sank to my chest, and I found that I couldn't meet his beautiful purple eyes as I shuffled past him. Now I could get dressed and go. He wouldn't have to worry about dealing with a sick, murderous, jealous—

"Which memories are you going to look at first, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I don't think I can choose," I said. My tone had already become dull and hollow again. How quickly I remembered my old habits.

He shrugged.

"I suppose not," he said. "What if you _could_, though?"

"If I could what?"

"If you could choose which memories to relive?"

"I…Why are you asking this?" I said.

_Is my voice quivering?_

"Just curious," he said. "Indulge me. I figure you owe me that much, at least."

The words hit me like one of Kurama's 300-joule slugs. This time, I didn't need to wonder whether my voice was shaking—it _definitely_ was.

"Maybe…maybe the time I first met you beneath the tree," I said. "And the time you ate breakfast with me in your purple bathrobe."

He'd stopped me just as I was passing by. I was stuck awkwardly a few inches away from him. "Anything else?" he asked. I vacillated between looking up at him and keeping my eyes glued to the floor. I chose the latter. That gave me a better view of my tears as they splattered on the polished wood.

I thought for a moment.

"I think I'd like to remember the time you let me down easy when I asked you to…well, you know. You were so gentle. And then when we beat Clovis right afterward."

In spite of my heart being torn in two, I couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"I remember," he said. "Anything else?"

"I don't think…Oh, wait, I'm so sorry! Do you mean the time you told me about Napoleon II?"

"YES! THANK YOU!—er…um…I mean…that _was_ pretty interesting—obviously—but I was more interested in what _you_ enjoyed."

I finally looked up and allowed myself to touch his face one last time. It felt like warm silk.

"But that _was_ wonderful, Lelouch. Like everything you do."

_And oh, how I'll miss you…_

I let my hand drop and walked past him. He drummed his fingers on the wall.

"Yep, sounds like a pretty good collection," he said. "Too bad you're missing the best one."

I stopped.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"The one where you danced with me," he said.

"But I didn't…"

He snapped his fingers.

"Ah! That's right. That's the memory you haven't made yet. How silly of me."

"Please, Lelouch, don't tease me…"

He raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"Really, it's too bad you're leaving," he said. "Otherwise, you'd be able to add another memory to your collection."

Lelouch stepped forward and gently slid his arm around my waist. Then he took my left hand in his right and led me into the open space in the living room. It took me a few minutes to get the steps right, but he was a good teacher (and was nice enough to say that I was a fast learner. I blushed a little at that). Soon, he was spinning me across the floor. I let my mind dissolve into the graceful movements of the dance. My head melted into his shoulder. He was right—it _was_ better than any of my other memories.

Maybe I could do without Refrain for tonight.

* * *

A few days later, we had our first breakfast together since I left.

"Coffee?"

I looked up. Lelouch smiled at me and held out a coffee pot. It was a cute, chubby little thing with violets painted along the rim and a thin wisp of steam rising from the mouth. I didn't have the heart to tell him that caffeine did nothing for me.

"I'd love some, thanks."

The coffee raced around my cup like a little whirlpool. I busied myself with one of the paper-and-pencil puzzles that he asked me to do every morning. They reminded me of one of the tests I'd been given in Kamakura, but I did them for Lelouch's sake.

"Lelouch?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm sorry; I don't mean to be a pain, but what are these?"

He reached across the table to the sugar bowl. The tiny pair of tongs scraped against the cubes. Finally, he caught one and dropped it into his cup.

"They're IQ tests," he said. "I'm using them to measure your recovery from Refrain use by comparing them to your records from Kamakura."

"What's IQ?" I asked.

A look of disgust passed across his face. I barely noticed it before he forced a smile again.

"No, I don't suppose they _would_ tell you the purpose of the tests they were giving you, would they? IQ is the main tool we use to measure intelligence. It's the basis for most of our eugenics program."

"So those tests I took at Kamakura--?"

"—Were IQ tests, yes," he said.

I looked down and fiddled with the tablecloth.

"Um, Lelouch?"

"Hmmm?"

"Would it be all right if I stopped…I mean…if I didn't take them?"

I stole a glance at him to see how he reacted. He leaned forward in his chair and interlaced his fingers under his chin.

_How ungrateful can you get? He takes you in, tries to heal you, and you can't even take a stupid test! So __what__ if it reminds you of Kamakura?!_

"I'm sorry, Lelouch! I'll do it. I didn't mean to—"

"That's fine," he said. "I wasn't getting much useful data anyway."

"But…"

"You exceeded your best Kamakura results a week ago," he said with a shrug. "Any additional information was just to satisfy my own curiosity."

My coffee cup stopped halfway between the table and my lips.

"But how is that possible?" I asked. "You mean I'm getting smarter?"

He pursed his lips and ran his forefinger across the rim of his cup.

"Not exactly. You spent most of your life in a state of complete sensory deprivation. Frankly, I'm surprised you're even functional. Your brain is being stimulated for the first time in years."

"So I'm going to be normal soon?" I said.

He threw back his head and laughed. It was so abrupt that I nearly jumped out of my seat.

"You're never going to be _normal_," he said. "Your IQ at Kamakura was in the high 180 range. You learned to read in a few _weeks_. Lucy, you're scoring 210 while recovering from a level of drug abuse that would have _killed_ any normal person fifty times over."

"Is 210 high?" I asked.

"It's higher than half of the royal family."

I laughed bitterly.

"Yeah, and look at me," I said.

He put down his coffee cup and waited until I met his eyes.

"Let me tell you a story," he said.

I eagerly huddled forward. Somehow, the way he told stories always gave me a tingly feeling all over my body.

"Once upon a time, two kids were brought up in the Britannian court. The younger one was a girl. Her mother spanked her a lot, ignored her whenever possible, and generally did everything she could to convince her that she was the vilest little brat on Earth. The other one was pampered beyond belief. No scolding, nada. Even when he was six years old, his mother insisted that he sleep in the same room because she couldn't bear to be alone."

He paused, waiting for me to say something.

"What happened?" I asked.

"More or less what you would expect," he said. "The boy grew up relatively well adjusted and became Prime Minister of Britannia."

"Schniezel?"

"The same."

"And the girl?"

He waved dismissively.

"Carine?" he said. "Oh, more or less what you'd expect. She developed a temper, her tantrums got worse, and caught a nasty habit of wetting her pants whenever her mother was around. Didn't kick the habit until she turned six. Which is too bad, since she apparently acted reasonably well with her baby-sitters. Right now she's Nunnally's age. Wretched piece of work, too. But you know something?"

"What?" I said.

"Their IQ and MSCEIT scores for interpersonal competence are more or less identical. Contrary to what the Kamakura people told you, we're not _born_ with our futures already written for us."

His eyes bored into me when he said that. I looked away. The room swam in and out of focus, as if I was watching it through agitated water.

* * *

_Where am I?!_

_Oh. _

_Kobayashi kicks a pebble. It skitters along the pavement and clunks into a rusty dumpster. Finally, it rolls to a stop near a pile of broken glass that was probably a beer bottle in a past life._

"_Is this the shop?"Mizuhara asks._

_I nod. We're standing in the middle of the Urawa-Kawasaki-Yokohama triangle—the focal point of Britannia's administrative complex. Lelouch says that ninety percent of their forces are concentrated here, guarding everything from prisons to oil refineries to the aircraft carrier bobbing peacefully in the harbor behind us. _

_They enter the shop, guns drawn. A woman in a faux tigerskin skirt jibbers in terror and tosses them a key. This time, I'm content to watch from the shadows. We meet in an alley a few blocks away and I sift through the loot. It's pretty impressive for a bunch of first timers: necklaces, rings, and even a diamond encrusted compass._

"_Very good," I say._

_They all beam, except for Mizuhara._

"_Well, what is it?"_

"_I dunno, Zero. It's just that this doesn't seem much like terrorism, you know? When'll we get to __fight__?"_

_I resist the urge to kill him. It's hard, but I manage. Instead, I jab him in the chest with my forefinger and I tell him that we're not a centralized organization. Each cell has to learn to take care of itself. He'll be a cell leader someday, so he'd better be able to steal. The government is spread too thinly to stop him._

"_But—"_

_My raised hand cuts him off. I give him Lelouch's canned speech about his comrades in the countryside—they need the money he raises, and the Britannians will get the breathing space to attack them if he ever lets up. He nods at last. My patience has paid off._

"_Yes, Zero."_

_I slap him on the back like I've seen Lelouch do when he's Zero. _

"_Don't worry," I say. "When you're able to afford weapons, your men can start attacking police. Soon they'll learn to stay in their barracks."_

_Everyone cheers at that. Maybe social interaction is easier than I thought._

_Yeah, as long as I have a mask._

_

* * *

  
_

I woke up again in the same room I'd been waking up in for the past two weeks. My body had found a way out of my dilemma even when words had failed me. I'd had another relapse. They were coming farther apart now, and I was already looking forward to the day when the only waking I'd be doing would be from sleep.

"Looking forward"—now _there's_ a phrase that I hadn't used very much in my eighteen years of life.

Lelouch probably understood what had triggered the problem, since he didn't say anything about it when he came into the room a few minutes later with a glass of warm milk. I would have done anything at Kamakura to get attention like that.

Instead of speaking, he padded over to the chestnut desk by my bedside and deposited a book there. Its surface was covered with black-and-white blotches as if someone had spilled paint all over the cardboard. Then he scooted another chair over to the desk. His motion was so graceful that the chair didn't even groan as it slid across the floor. Now both of them stood side by side. His work completed, he sat down and looked at me expectantly.

I sat down beside him.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Something that people use to keep track of memories without using Refrain," he said. "Think of it as another part of the therapy."

I opened it and flipped through the pages, expecting to find a set of instructions there. All I saw were blank pages.

"I don't understand."

Lelouch pulled out a sharpened pencil and set it down on the opened book. It made a little _pad-pad-pad_ sound as it rolled down the page, finally coming to rest just before it fell off.

"I want you to write a page about your childhood," he said. "Anything you remember that you enjoyed."

"Is this part of an IQ test?" I asked.

"No. This is for your use. I'll even leave the room if you don't want to show me what you wrote."

His chair creaked as he started to get up.

"Wait!"

He paused, suspended halfway between sitting and standing.

"Please stay," I said.

He nodded and sank back into his chair. I picked up the pencil, gritted my teeth, and started writing. My face reddened when I saw how scribbly and childlike my handwriting still was. Hopefully Lelouch wouldn't think too badly of me for it.

* * *

_Lucy was almost eleven years old when she met Lelouch Lamperouge. It was the summer, and the combination of sun and wind gave her a heady rush. This, she thought, was what life should feel like._

_Director Kurama had said…_

_

* * *

  
_

I erased that sentence and started again. It was bad enough that I'd killed Marianne. If Lelouch ever learned the circumstances behind it…

Well, that didn't bear thinking about.

* * *

_Director Kurama had always told her that humans were like the kids she'd known at the orphanage—cruel, ready to tease and torment at a moment's notice. The caped boy teaching her a game was none of these things. Whenever she moved a game piece incorrectly, he calmly replaced it and explained how it was supposed to move. If he'd been Kurama, he would have reinforced the lesson with electric shocks._

_

* * *

  
_

I looked up at Lelouch, hoping to see his reaction after he read that part. His eyes didn't move from the paper. I tried to read his expression and failed—not that I'd had much experience at things like that. The pause snapped him out of it.

"Er…go on, Lucy."

* * *

_A smaller girl with brown hair and curious blue eyes bounded up to her, grabbed her hands, and spun her around in a crazy little dance, gleefully kicking puffballs—_

* * *

"What are those puffball plants called again?" I asked.

"Huh? Oh. You're probably thinking of dandelions."

* * *

_Kicking dandelions and chanting "remember remember the fifth of November" over and over again. Lucy wondered whether the girl just liked the line or whether it was the only one she knew. Judging from the brother, it was probably the former._

_Lucy didn't tell the boy much about her past, which seemed to suit him just fine. They didn't have much time to reminisce anyway. The next few hours were a breathless adventure for Lucy. They visited the zoo, where Lelouch rescheduled the lions' feeding time especially for her. After the sun had drifted below the horizon and the cicadas started singing, he showed her the observatory and they looked at the stars that one day, Lelouch assured her, Britannia would colonize. Throughout, the boy kept up a constant stream of conversation about every topic under the sun, from the Royal Family's history to his experiments with foul-smelling plants. _

_By the end of the day, she even managed to get used to the hat._

_

* * *

  
_

"What hat?"

"Don't you remember?" I said. "It was white and tassely, and you said I could hide my horns with it."

He appeared lost in thought for a few seconds.

"Hmm…This hat wouldn't happen to look like a fashion designer's worst nightmare, would it?"

_Yes. A thousand times, yes!_

"Um…It wasn't _that_ bad," I stammered. "It was a really nice gesture...I mean, I liked it…"

"That hat," he said, "was the most ridiculous piece of wardrobe that has ever darkened the Britannian royal family's doorstep. I threw it out ages ago."

I breathed a sigh of relief and allowed myself to laugh a little. Maybe my fashion sense wasn't so bad after all.

"Lelouch? Maybe I should stop for now. I'd rather forget the last part."

He leaned forward.

"Please continue."

* * *

_If that day had been the best of her life, the dinner that followed was definitely the worst. They lead her into a cold stone room, windowless and enormous. Its only furnishings were an oak table and four chairs. The place echoed oddly. She felt as if the sounds were following her. As far as she could tell, the only light in the room came from a single candelabrum in the middle of the table._

_She walked closer, Familiar faces appeared at the table. At least the boy was still there, she thought. His mother and sister took up the other two spots. Behind the mother, Lucy saw something that seemed very odd—a line of maids standing at even intervals leading from the table to the doorway a couple dozen meters away._

_

* * *

  
_

"Wait," Lelouch said. "You're saying that there was a line of maids leading from the table to the doorway? As if somebody had arranged them like that?"

"I always thought it was some old Britannian custom," I said.

He shook his head.

"There's _never_ been a custom like that."

"Maybe I'm remembering it wrong, then," I said.

He pushed himself into a standing position and motioned for me to sit down when I tried to rise as well. I was relieved when he only moved a step or two away—just far enough to pace back and forth, running his hand through his hair.

"No, you're probably right," he said. "I didn't tell you this earlier, but I have a few…gaps in my memory. I remember most of it, but there are a couple sections blanked out. Probably from trauma."

"Oh…"

I wanted to sink into the chair and disappear. Fortunately, his next question distracted me from that thought.

"How many did you kill?"

"Maids?"

He nodded.

"Yes. I remember that Nunnally left before the bloodbath and I remember when you…" he rubbed his hands across his face and exhaled "…killed…my mother. But I don't remember anything after that."

"Do _you_ remember the maids?" I asked.

"No, but I suspect that my memory has been tampered with. How many were there?"

"Eight?" I guessed. "Nine? I don't know."

Lelouch suddenly whirled around and slammed his palm on the desk in front of me. I jumped. I felt my brain screaming for vectors to emerge, but fortunately—_very­_ fortunately—I didn't have any. I took a deep breath. The panic signals ground to a halt.

"Please don't startle me like that, Lelouch. You have every right to hate me—believe me, I know—but I'm can't always control myself when you surprise me. I'm sorry, I don't mean to, but…"

Lelouch's eyes widened and he withdrew his hand as if I'd bitten it. The reaction only lasted for a second before he regained control.

"Ah…involuntary reflex, then. I see. I'll bear it in mind."

Then he lowered his voice into a tone that was less jarring but still carried enough menace to get the point across.

"Now _concentrate and tell me how many maids you killed_."

I imagined the scene again. I even released the last traces of Refrain that I'd stored in my system, hoping that I could sharpen the memor. It worked.

"There are eight of them," I said. "They're standing twelve—no!—fifteen feet away from each other. They all look terrified."

"What sets you off?" he asked. "What gets you angry in the first place?"

"I…don't know."

"You kill my mother and you _don't know_?"

I'm almost crying now. I try to revert to my usual deadpan stoicism, but the combined force of the memory and Lelouch's anger are too much.

"I _don't know_! I'm sorry! I just felt angrier and creepier as the meal went on, like someone was sliding a cold dead eel across my back. By the time they served the roast I just wanted to kill everyone in reach, puke, and get out of there. Please believe me, I didn't want to—"

"I believe you," he said. "_To a degree_. Now what happened?"

I reentered the memory. I'd just jumped out of my seat, screaming at the top of my lungs for reasons I couldn't quite understand. And the Empress…smiled.

"_Smiled_?" he said. "Like she thought it was funny?"

I pictured her face in my mind's eye. Even without Refrain, that smile had burned itself into my memory.

"No. It wasn't an amused smile. It was more like…like _you_, when you have somebody right where you want them. And then she turned away and I killed her."

"Did you cut her head off?" he said.

"I'm sorry, Lelouch! I'm so--"

"Yes or no? This isn't an accusation."

"Yes."

"Very well," he said. "And you decapitated her what--a few seconds after she turned around?"

I replayed the scene.

* * *

_She turns away in the middle of my rant. I'm confused—what's she doing? The maid looks at her and shivers. What's going on?_

_JUST KILL EVERYONE AND GET AWAY!_

_

* * *

  
_

"At least six seconds," I said. "Maybe seven."

"And the maids…did they run away when you started killing people?"

I retraced my footsteps and gasped.

"No, they didn't! Only the one closest to the door ran away. The rest just stood there!"

I became aware of a hand shaking my shoulder.

"Okay, you can snap out of it now. Take a couple hours to clear whatever Refrain stores you're using out of your system."

I looked up guiltily. He gave me a Cheshire cat grin that reminded me a lot of Marianne's.

"I read your file," he said. "I probably understand your physiology better than you do."

"I didn't mean to cheat," I said. "I really didn't. It's just that Refrain is so…"

"Addictive. Yes. Which is why I want you to get rid of whatever you're using right now. Drink lots of water and get a good night's sleep."

He patted me on the head and turned to go. When he reached the door, he paused.

"Lucy? Two more things."

"Whatever you want," I said, and meant it.

"First, C.C. mustn't know about any of this."

I nodded. That was one promise that would be easy to keep.

"And second?" I asked.

"Next time, write your journal entry in first person. It's easier when you don't dissociate from it."

* * *

I woke up the next day to the feeling of fuzz covering my face. Still half-asleep, I tried to brush it off and realized that the fuzz was growing from something with ribs underneath.

"Mmmph?" I said.

A padded foot pressed against my solar plexus and the fuzz-lump repositioned itself on my stomach. I sat up. A pair of blue eyes stared back at me.

"Do you like him?" Lelouch asked.

The cat tilted its face to one side and seemed to smile at me. His face was a little puffier than most cats I'd seen; an effect exaggerated by his folded ears. Experimentally, I reached out and rubbed the scruff of his neck. He purred like a motorboat and rolled over, exposing his mottled belly.

"He's nice," I said.

Lelouch knelt by the side of the bed and patted the cat's stomach.

"He's a Davenport Fold," he said. "They're bred for high intelligence and affection toward humans. This particular little guy was Lloyd Asplund's Doctoral project at the Imperial Colchester Institute."

My stomach knotted when I heard the name. For a second I couldn't figure out why. Then I remembered—I'd seen Earl Asplund before. He'd watched me once from behind the glass at Kamakura, when Kurama had scheduled a "bonus" experiment that day in his honor.

"If he's anything like his creator…"

Lelouch chuckled and waved my objection away.

"Don't worry. Lloyd donated him to the Colchester Institute after he created him. Actually, I hadn't remembered him until Arthur went missing."

"Um…really?" I said.

He shrugged and scratched the back of his head.

"Funny thing, too," he said. "He ran off with one of my masks. I spent a couple weeks trying to find him. Nunnally was devastated."

"Oh…er…how strange. Heh."

He gave me an odd look.

"Indeed. In any event, I'm going to be giving a Davenport Fold to Nunnally in a few days, so I'll expect a report on how you like him."

The cat gripped my hand in his paws and rubbed my fingers against his face.

"I'd…like that," I said.

We scratched the cat's head for a while before Lelouch announced that he had to do something that afternoon. I waved him goodbye and played with my new companion for a few minutes. Lelouch was right; he _was_ smart. When I tried to teach him a few tricks, he seemed to grasp them intuitively—and I'm no animal trainer. It almost felt as if he was training me to train him, if that makes any sense. Within five minutes, he'd "learned" to balance a paper clip on his nose, roll over on command, and do a somersault. It finally got weird when he jumped onto the chess table and nudged the queen into a checkmate position. That's when I decided to take a shower.

When I finally turned the water off and walked back into the hall, C.C. was waiting for me. She spared me a lazy glance from the couch and flipped a page in one of her stupid magazines. If she was uncomfortable with me walking by in a towel, she didn't show it.

"If you had any decency, you'd kill yourself and save Lelouch the trouble," she said.

I summoned my vectors and clenched my hands in frustration when they didn't emerge. She must have seen it, since she looked up at me through her bangs with a satisfied grin.

"Lelouch doesn't want me dead," I said.

"I know what you've been telling Lelouch," she said. "You'd better stop it soon, or I'll have to take drastic action."

I laughed humorlessly.

"You can _try_," I said.

"In case you haven't noticed, you don't have vectors anymore."

I put my fist through the coffee table in front of her. It cracked like balsa wood.

"I don't need them," I said.

She rolled her eyes.

"You can wring my neck fifty times and I'll recover. _You_ only need to fail once. Not that it matters. I have something much worse to hang over your head."

I withdrew my hand from the hole in the table. A dab of blood patted on the carpet.

"I doubt it," I said.

C.C. crossed her hands behind her head and smirked.

"I wonder how Lelouch would react if you told him about the lead-up to your little meeting," she said.

_She knows!_

"You'd be admitting your own involvement," I said.

"If you give him any more information, he'll figure that out anyway."

"Not if I kill—"

A wail from Lelouch's room interrupted me. Lelouch _was_ supposed to be home right about now, but it sounded feminine. C.C. and I stared at each other, wide-eyed, and dashed for the room.

We found a red-haired girl in an Ashford uniform sitting on the floor, clutching Lelouch's helmet to her chest and muttering "Villeta was right" over and over. Her eyes widened when she saw us.. Wet lines of mascara ran down her cheeks. Her mouth was moving, but no sound came out. I grabbed a brass trophy from the mantelpiece, tested its weight, and decided that it would do.

"I'll take care of this," I said.

C.C. put her arm across my chest.

"No. I have a better idea. Hold her down."

The girl finally seemed to understand what was happening. She jumped to her feet and backed away, but there was nowhere to run. In a couple moments, I'd pinned her to the ground and stuffed a sock in her mouth. She finally gave up her attempts to shove me off and stared at me, shivering.

C.C. tossed the helmet back into the closet.

"Well?" I said.

"I can feed people trauma images," she said. "If I give her a high enough dose, her mind will probably blank this experience out."

The girl started screaming through her gag.

"Just be sure to jump away when I touch her," C.C. said. "I don't want this spreading to you. Geass doesn't work on non-humans, but diclonii are close enough to humans that a Code bearer might—"

"What's Geass?" I demanded.

She smiled.

"One more thing Lelouch hasn't told you about, apparently."

"I'm sure he'll tell me when he's ready, then," I said. "Now get on with it!"

C.C. closed her eyes. An odd symbol etched itself in light on her forehead. She leaned forward and placed her hand on the girls forehead

"What's going on here? I—Shirley?!?!"

_No!_

"Stay away, Lelouch!"

He didn't listen. I only remember the next few seconds as a collection of images—Lelouch grabbing C.C., Shirley shaking uncontrollably, me trying to pull Lelouch to safety. Then the world dissolved.

* * *

_I was being burned alive. Heat seared through my legs. My lungs were so choked with soot that I couldn't even scream anymore, but I didn't even feel lightheaded. The pain, though…__that__ was unbearable._

"_Get out of my mind!" C.C. shrieked._

"_This…was you?" Lelouch said. _

_Lelouch?!_

_I stood beside my beheaded mother. The horned girl who killed her stood over me, but I didn't feel afraid any more. What more could she take away from me? _

"_GO AHEAD!" I yelled. "What are you waiting for? Go ahead and finish the job, coward!"_

_I was myself again, looking back at that little boy and wondering why I'd done it. My other self, the one with the head smothered in bandages, taunted me from the sidelines._

"_Lelouch, I never realized what it was like for you. That's what it feels like to lose a mother?"_

_Instead of words, a wave of anguish lapped against my consciousness. So I wasn't the only one reliving these emotions, then. We were all experiencing everything at once—all the pain in our lives._

"_You should have killed me," I said._

_THWAPP!_

_A metal ball hit my chest. I could feel my ribcage starting to weaken. At this rate, it would take weeks to heal. I opened my eyes and saw a stream of dried blood doodled across the metal floor. And a pair of shoes…._

"_Lelouch?"_

_I looked up. There he was, seventeen years old and clutching his head._

"_Make it stop!" he screamed._

"_Four hundred joules."_

_Thwoooooom—THWAPP!_

_The ball passed through Lelouch's body as if he was a ghost and fractured my ribcage. I fell so quickly that the chains almost ripped my arms out of their sockets._

_Three voices screamed._

_No…_

_Four__ voices._

_My father was dead. Dead. As in never coming back. As in never able to sit down to dinner with me again and listen as I poured my heart out about the trials and tribulations of high school. I'd never be able to tell him about boys or homework. My mother threw herself on the grave and begged the gravediggers to stop shoveling dirt onto my father._

_Gently, I pulled her away and let her cry on my shoulder. I would bury my emotions with my father. I needed to be strong for now. Crying could wait._

_A white light appeared. I was returning…_

_

* * *

  
_

Reality never felt so good. All four of us collapsed on the floor, gasping. I counted spots on the ceiling and begged my mind _not_ to process what it had seen in the last few minutes. Nobody said anything for a long time. And then…

"Girls?"

"Y…yes, Lelouch?"

"I can't see _anything_."


	10. Turn 10: Lelouch

**Chapter 10: Lelouch**

"Close your eyes."

"They _are_ closed, Lelouch."

Lucy's voice carried a definite note of pain. A good sign—she was starting to show affect again. Too bad I couldn't see it.

"Oh…Okay then. Now, think back to the time your dog was killed."

As soon as I said that, her hand tightened in mine. I don't have Nunnally's knack for mindreading-by-palmistry, but the reason was pretty obvious.

"Relax," I said.

Slowly, her hand loosened again. I tried to ignore the throbbing pain in my knuckles.

"Tell me the story from your perspective," I said. "The way you saw it as a little girl."

Something brushed against wood under the table. I guessed that Lucy had twined her feet around the chair legs again.

"I...One of the boys is holding me," she said.

"Go on."

"He won't let me go," she said. "I'm struggling. You know that queasy feeling when you're losing control and it feels like you're never going to get it back?"

_Not until a week ago, actually…_

I nodded.

"Well, that's what it felt like," she said. "And then the little bastard _smiles_ at me. Smiles. Like it's some big, funny joke. He's bringing the vase down again and again and…"

I lost concentration at that point. Her hand tensed with every 'again'. I'm all for getting into a story, but there was only so much immersion I can take.

"Lucy?"

"Yes?"

"You're squeezing my hand into a pulp."

She gasped and withdrew her hand so fast that my palm smacked onto the table. That set off another gasp and a flurry of babbled apologies. I tried to shrug it off.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Really, it's fine. Perfectly understandable."

"But…I didn't mean to _hurt_ you like that—"

I waved my hand.

"I'm fine," I said. "It's not as if I'm…"

_An invalid? A cripple? _

"…as fragile as all that."

"I…see," she said. "If you don't want to continue…"

"I said I was fine!" I snapped.

Several seconds of silence followed. I imagined Lucy hanging her head.

_Ah, but you can't __see__ it, now can you?_

"Lucy?"

"Yes, Lelouch?"

That voice again. Crisp. Businesslike. A trained dog ready to take orders rather than risk getting kicked again.

"I'm sorry. I'm just a little…tense right now."

A finger brushed tentatively against my hand. When I didn't brush it away, Lucy perched the rest of her fingers there. Their touch was so light that I could barely feel them. She was ready to pull away again at a moment's notice.

"But you said it was temporary," she said. "I _know_ you'll get better."

That sentence wasn't a statement—it was a plea. It was weird to hear someone _more_ desperate for my recovery than I was. I didn't get much of that growing up. Well, except from Nunnally, but she doesn't count.

I sighed.

"I said it _may_ be temporary, Lucy. Psychosomatic blindness is one of those weird recessive traits on the vi Britannia side of the family. A couple of us got it when we were young—Schniezel when he fell off a bicycle, Clovis when he got smacked with a pool cue during a fight with Cornelia…stuff like that. I don't think any of us got it past our fifth birthday, though. And it never lasted a _week_."

"But…but if it comes from trauma, maybe that's the reason it isn't cured yet! Maybe—"

"--Maybe it needs to work its way out of my system?" I said.

A pause. She must have nodded and then remembered that I couldn't see her. So—

"Oh, sorry. Yes, that's what I meant."

I laughed ruefully.

"Or _maybe_ it's so severe that I'll never recover," I said.

Something slapped against the table.

"Then I'll take care of you! With all that you've done for me, it's the least I could do. I promise, Lelouch!"

The drama was so thick that you could have spooned it out of the air with a ladle. Despite everything, I felt a smile creeping across my face. Even I have my limits.

"Calm down," I said. "That's very thoughtful of you, but it might not be necessary."

"That's…That's right!"

"Right. Now then…speaking of helping you out, we have some treatment ahead. Just try not to mangle my hand as much this time. No offense, of course."

"None taken," she said. "If anything, I should be the one apol—"

"Don't," I said.

"Yes, Lelouch."

"Now close your eyes."

Her hand wound around my left this time—and more gingerly. Hopefully it would stay that way.

"Okay, I want you to narrate the same scene from the perspective of the boy who's holding you," I said.

"Wh—what?!"

"Pretend that you're the boy who held you, and tell me what happens," I said patiently. "I've read your journal entries. I _know_ you understand the narrator/author distinction."

"But I can't! I don't even know what's going on in _my_ head! How am I supposed to figure out what he was thinking?"

I shrugged.

"Use your own experiences to fill in the gaps," I said. "I looked inside your mind, remember? I saw when you were trying to put yourself in my shoes. Do the same thing with this kid."

"But you're so _kind_! You're _nothing_ like him! He was a vile, evil little monster who killed my dog and tormented me for no good reason."

I didn't even bother commenting on the 'you're so kind' part. If she was gullible enough to believe that, no amount of persuasion would convince her otherwise. As to the rest…

"Just fill in the gaps as best you can," I said. "Invent a reason. And close your eyes. It helps."

"Okay, Lelouch. I'll…I'll try. I'm, um, a boy. Six years old. I'm holding a pink-haired girl with horns so my friend can beat her dog to death."

"Do you _know_ that he'll beat her dog to death?" I asked.

"Huh? Of course! I saw him do it."

I shook my head.

"No. I wasn't asking eighteen-year-old Lucy. I'm asking _you_, a six-year-old boy, whether he knows what's going to happen."

You'll laugh when I tell you this, but I swear I could hear her chewing her lip.

"I…maybe not. I—er, I mean, the pink haired girl—doesn't know, so maybe I—the boy--don't either. He—er, I—usually try to stay out of trouble. I don't do stuff like that without being egged on. I probably just want to scare her."

_Hmmm…_

"Fast forward," I said. "Visualize the scene again from your own perspective. You told me last time that the boy was laughing when the ringleader beat your dog to death."

"Yes…No! Wait, what?"

"Is he still doing it? Is he still laughing?" I asked.

She gasped.

"No! And he's let me go. He's not holding me anymore! What's going on, Lelouch?!"

_Curiouser and curiouser…_

Her tone carried a very nervous edge. I can't say I blamed her. I tried to keep my voice as steady and soothing as possible.

"Don't worry," I said. "I think I know what's going on. Trust me here. Now: imagine yourself as the ringleader."

"Must I?"

"Yes."

"All right," she said at last. "I'm, um, also six years old. And I don't like the girl either. I want to make her feel miserable."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because…I don't know….because that's what I like doing. I'm just an evil person who likes inflicting pain."

I 'hmmm'ed disapprovingly.

"He sounds kinda one-dimensional. Nope. Sorry, Lucy. You'll have to do better than that."

"But…"

"Tsk, tsk!" I said, waggling a finger with mock seriousness. "None of that! Now then, why are you tormenting Lucy?"

"Because…"

_That's right. Sift through your own experiences and try to find a metaphor_.

"Because torturing things lets me get revenge for something?" she guessed. "Because it's easier to kill something that I can't understand? I don't know!"

I propped my head on my hand and leaned against the wing of my armchair, noticing for the first time the equal-and-opposite pressure that my weight exerted when it rebounded from the chair to my cheek.

"Your second reason sounds pretty good," I said. "So why do you attack things you don't understand?"

"Because they're dangerous?"

"Why?"

"Because…if I get close to them, they're going to hurt me," she said.

"How would they hurt you?" I said.

Her hand drew back and then stopped. I was willing to bet that she was about to rub her scars from the Facility.

"It would abandon me," she said. "Like mother did. Like everybody does. Except…"

Me. Of course.

"Very well," I said. "You're Lucy again, as a little girl. Is the boy still beating the dog?"

"Yes."

"To death?"

"Y—no! Lelouch, what's going on!?"

There was a sound of genuine panic in her voice. Ironic, really. After years of abusing her body in every way possible, all the Kamakura researchers had to do was fiddle with her mind to get the reaction they wanted.

"Empathy, for one thing," I said. "The rest I'll have to think—"

Lucy suddenly snarled and I felt the table being upended. Before I realized what was happening, I was on my back with her fingers wrapped around my throat. I tried to pull them off, but it was like trying to break steel straps.

_So I __was__ right…_

Pressure built up in my head and my hearing started to go.

And then…

"Lelouch? Oh my…LELOUCH! Are you all right? What have I done?"

_Not dead yet. That's good, I suppose._

How much time had passed? I tried to speak. The pain in my throat stopped me. I rubbed it a few times.

"Fine," I managed to rasp.

"I need to go," she said. "I can't keep endangering you like this…"

I heard footsteps moving away from me and toward the door. A bolt of pain shot through my throat as I started to speak. I stomped on the floor instead. She stopped. I grabbed the table and pulled myself up. My legs wobbled a little, so I leaned on it and staggered over to the desk. I burrowed into the drawer, running my hands over scissors, plastic markers, and a sharpened pencil that drew blood when it jabbed me. I finally found a piece of stationery and scribbled what I hoped looked something like this:

_I didn't spend the last few weeks looking for you just to have you wander off and rot your mind with more Refrain._

She must have gotten the gist of it, since she sat down again. I scribbled another note and pushed it across the table with a swish. I was rewarded with the gentle crumpling sound that told me she'd picked it up. A few seconds passed.

"You think my other personality changed my memories?" she said.

_More than that, _I wrote. _She changed your perception of the event as it was happening._

More waiting followed.

"How?" she asked.

_No idea_. _But she tried to interfere with your memory recovery with that little 'incident' a few minutes ago. That should tell you something, n'est-ce pas?_

"But the dog…"

_I always wondered about that. Something seemed off about a bunch of kids beating a dog to death in the middle of a supervised orphanage. __Beat__ a dog, maybe…but to death? That was way too far into Lord of the Flies territory._

"What's Lord of the Flies?"

_Old book. Not important. The point is that whatever subconscious personality you've got is trying to isolate you from other people._

"But I remember the Facility!" she protested "Are you telling me that I made it all up?"

_No, _I wrote. _ I saw the place myself. Your other personality didn't need to alter anything because it was already bad enough. Plus, you're a little better connected with reality now than you were as a kid. It wouldn't work anymore._

I cleared my throat experimentally. It still hurt. Good enough.

"Just try to keep it under control in the future," I said. "I'll leave it alone for now, so I don't think you'll have another episode."

"Yes, Lelouch."

_To business, then_.

"So…how's the war coming?" I asked.

She sighed.

"Not well."

I listened as she gave me chapter and verse of the Rebellion's problems. Halfway through, I realized that she was right. We were screwed. On the bright side, our operatives were more experienced now. That was the _only _piece of good news.

Night attacks had become more difficult after Britannia started employing night vision security cameras. Cornelia had moved most Britannian weapons plants overseas, so sabotage was out. In response to our attacks on police stations, the government had armed Eleven police to the teeth. Jail liberations became worthless after the Britannians realized that they could avoid the problem by executing our prisoners within 24 hours. Even Britannian banks had started to move their vaults back to the Mainland. Two days ago, the Resistance had suffered a particularly embarrassing setback when a night attack on the _IMS Nelson _failed spectacularly on national television.

"If you'd blown up the BNN building like I told you, Diethardt would've been too busy cleaning up wreckage to cover that story," I said.

"I'm sorry."

I waved her off.

"Forget it," I said. "How's the attack on the transportation network going?"

I heard her get up and pace across the floor.

"The roadblocks aren't working as well as they used to," she said. "We'll need landmines if we want to disrupt motor traffic."

"At _least_ tell me that you blew up the monorail network," I said.

"Seventy percent destroyed," she said with a note of pride.

"Good. Make it ninety. If I'm going to get you landmines, we want as many motorists running into them as possible."

"Yes, Lelouch."

"And try to arrange few more hijackings. If we can't destroy the BNN, we can at least give them a front-page story. Is there anything else?"

As it turned out, there was. More Elevens were denouncing us. With the JLF gone, they weren't afraid of retaliation, and the Britannians knew it. Cornelia had finally started to pay attention to the Elevens.

Worse, she was doing it in the most un-Britannian way imaginable. Her first act as Sub-Viceroy was to organize what she called the Eleven Self Defense League. It was a complicated monstrosity of an organization, with every village and city block in Japan reporting to an Eleven block leader. I could picture what those block leaders would be like before Lucy described them. I'd seen their kind before—carefully selected collaborators who'd sell their neighbors out to us just for the feeling of power it gave them. And if I knew Clovis, he'd be paying them premiums for every "terrorist" they denounced…

Why is it that innocents always get massacred, I wonder?

The League was spreading its tentacles into every facet of Japanese life. Block leaders reported to chiefs, who reported to sub-commandants, who reported to district commanders. Elevens, all of 'em. I was willing to bet that most of the district commanders were Britannian pets like Suzaku who took idiotic pride in their loyalty, along with a few yuppies who just wanted to be Honorary Britannians. As members of their community, they would also have an interest in keeping their districts obedient.

No bribery, then. Fine. Bullets would have to do.

Then there were the Grand Control Centers that Cornelia had set up city by city. Each had its own commander. That, at least, was encouraging. They would be hard for Clovis to control, even with Cornelia's help. The fact that my paranoid brother had added _another_ organization to oversee the Grand Control Centers would make it even harder.

"Why?" Lucy asked.

"Eh?" I said. "Oh. Because the Britannian political system is massively centralized. We don't delegate anything unless we can't help it."

"But isn't that difficult?"

"Extremely. We're genetically engineered because we _need_ to be to keep Britannia running," I said.

"Then why don't you delegate?" she said.

I smiled. A few weeks as a guerrilla commander and she was already discussing leadership theory with me. I'll give her this much: the girl was interesting.

"Because the Britannian state exists to serve the family, not the other way around. The risk of losing control is too high, so we keep control concentrated in a few dozen relatives," I said.

"I guess that makes sense," she said. "Clovis announced yesterday that it's defensive and he'll disband it as soon as the war's over."

A sharp laugh escaped from my throat.

"Fat chance," I said. "Once he realizes how well it keeps the Elevens in line, Clovis is going to start leaning on it for support."

"If you think it's bad now, wait until the census," she growled.

"Please tell me that's not what I think it is…" I said.

"Every Japanese citizen is going to be assigned an ID card and needs to join a civic organization—"

"Shit. So it _is_ what I thought."

I probed the table with my legs until I found a spot to cross them and then leaned back. Clovis could deny supplies to the Rebellion without attacking them directly. And "Zero" couldn't do anything about it. So there.

"If any of my subordinates betray us, I'll kill them myself," Lucy said.

"No!" I shouted. The chair scooted back. I softened my voice. "No. That's the worst thing you can do," I said. "Most of our commanders aren't very durable. The Britannians will just torture them until they crack, then threaten to turn them back over to the Resistance as collaborators."

"_I_ wouldn't crack," she said.

"That's because you're not human," I said.

"Thankfully."

I acknowledged the point with a brief nod.

"You know, it's funny, really…" I said.

Lucy's skirt swished as I spoke. She must have leaned forward again.

"What is?"

"Oh, just something I told Kallen a while ago."

Lucy inhaled sharply when she heard that name. I wondered whether it was because of their romantic rivalry or because Kallen had been giving "Zero" trouble. Lucy probably wouldn't tell me about it if it was the latter.

"…Anyway, I told her that Britannia wasn't a totalitarian state," I said. "Apparently, I was premature."

Without a miracle, the Elevens would slip back into their comfortable obedience to authority just like any other subject population. It was like watching our conquest of Brazil in fast-forward.

"I need to think," I said. "They're going to be setting up training camps for Eleven spies. As soon as I get my sight back…"

_IF I get my sight back…_

"…I'll figure out where they're located so you can target them. Anything else?"

"I don't think so," she said. "It's just…I mean, I can't _attack_ them!"

Something metal snapped. Probably a fork.

" I'm sorry, Lelouch. It's just frustrating. You said we can't use the Black Knights until the terrorists softened them up, and now…"

"All right," I said. "First off, _you_ may not be able to attack them, but _I_ still can."

"How--?"

I grinned and raised my eyebrows.

"You'll see. Now here's my advice: Our organization is getting too big. It's spread across the country, which means the Britannians can infiltrate it. Every Britannian spy can corrupt several of our operatives, so try downsizing. Oh, and keep a close watch on the leadership. They think we're compartmentalized like the JLF, so they'll try to turn those guys first."

"Yes, Lelouch."

"And stop saying that. You sound like an evil henchman or something."

She chuckled.

"Aren't I?"

* * *

An alarm woke me up.

I was sleeping a lot more these days. Perpetual darkness tends to do that.

_Wait…an alarm? THE alarm?!_

I patted my torso. My fingers touched cloth. Good. I was already dressed. The alarm clock's screeching had sent adrenaline coursing through my body, but my mind still felt as if I was paddling through thick mud. I stood up and rubbed my forehead.

I had work to do.

I reached out until I felt my bedroom wall. By now, it must have been grimy with fingerprints. The cracked paint rubbed against my hand as I followed the edge of the wall to the phone. After a few more seconds of groping around on the tabletop, I found it. One of the perks of a great memory is that I can remember where all the numbers are located.

_Wait a minute…_

I frowned. Something felt different today. The plastic was a little too slick, the keys a little too big. No!--More than that. They had bumps on them.

"AAAAUUUGH!"

Some thoughtful, sensitive _**idiot**_had replaced my phone with a vision-impaired model. Great, except for one minor detail: I. Can't. Read. Braille.

"C.C.!" I shouted.

Then I remembered that she was out to lunch.

"Luc—"

No. She was impersonating Zero. Which left…

_Oh, crap._

Could I trust her? Doubtful. She didn't know that Sayoko was out on a mission, so maybe she wouldn't try to run. Perhaps I could bluff her.

I would have to bluff her.

I stumbled over to the basement door and gently knocked. A gloomy, muffled voice answered.

"What do you want?"

"Shirley, I need your help," I said.

"Lelouch? What's going on? How can you treat me like this?! Why did you kill--"

"Later," I said. "I'll answer all of your questions later. But I need your help. If I unlock the door, would you do that for me?"

Her voice became wary.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

I swallowed my pride.

"Um…I need you to dial a number for me," I said.

"Why can't you—Oh! I see. Is it about terrorism?" she said.

"No. Peaceful protest, actually."

"I…I guess that's not so bad…And you'll answer my questions afterward?" she said.

"Sure," I said. "Why not?"

To make a long story short, she dialed the number. I spent the interim cramming my head into a very hot, stuffy mask. The gentle _brrrrr_ of the phone sounded tinny through my helmet's headphones. Finally, an angry voice greeted me on the other end.

"Am I late for the teleconference?" I said.

"Oh, only about twenty minutes, give or take," came the sarcastic reply.

"Then I'd better get moving," I said. "Here's the deal, gentlemen: Our plan is to withdraw support from the dictatorship one piece at a time. The Viceroy has just helped us enormously, so we're going to let him continue what he's doing."

"WHAT?!" half a dozen voices shouted.

I laughed.

"So you've heard about the Self Defense League. Good. Now let me tell you about its weaknesses. It's massively bureaucratized, which means it'll be unwieldy and slow to adapt. It's also a huge investment. Clovis won't be able to suddenly switch his resources to oppose us. And since we're not as visible as the terrorists, most of his entourage will omit our activities from their reports anyway."

"But the civic organizations will win the Japanese people over!" someone shouted.

"Nonsense," I said. "If you think Honorary Britannian status can smooth everything over, you're deluding yourself. Especially after the Kamakura incident let a bunch of demons loose on the Japanese population. Next?"

Apparently, my flippant dismissal didn't go over well. I heard grumbling on the other end of the line.

"Think of the casualties if Clovis turns this organization on our people," another man said. I recognized the voice. Hayato something-or-other, one of the minor members of the Kyoto faction.

"I promised you a _peaceful_ victory, not a bloodless one. Next?"

"You can't honestly believe that we can topple Britannia like this!"

I slammed my palm on the desk.

"That's where you're wrong!" I said. "You're getting dazzled by the army and secret police. _Everyone_ has an Achilles heel."

"Even you?" somebody said.

_You have __no__ idea…_

"Except me," I said.

"Forgive me if I'm not convinced, Oh Great And Mighty Zero."

I tried to run my fingers through my hair. Unfortunately, I was wearing a helmet. My hand skidded along the ceramic horns.

"Okay, let me put it this way," I said. "Britannia's centralized, right? Maybe you think that makes them stronger. Wrong. It just makes it easier for Clovis to make mistakes. And the military's as much a problem for the Emperor as it is for you."

"Bullshit."

"Ever heard of Empress Marianne?" I said.

"Er…"

"She was a Knight of Rounds," I said. (I caught myself just before I referred to her as 'Mom').  
"She put the current Emperor on the throne. Pretty typical, actually. The closer you get to the inner circle, the more Britannian politics starts to look like musical chairs."

"Sounds great in theory," another guy piped up. "Problem is, none of those factions care about us."

"Incorrect," I said. "I'm guessing most of you heard the Emperor's speech last night. Any guesses why he made it?"

They gave all the standard responses. I waited until they were done.

"Wrong," I said. "Wrong, wrong, wrong, and wrong. Oh, and yours was wrong too. Okay, that covers everybody. Here's the real reason: because he knows that nobody buys into Darwinism anymore. Most of the universities and young people are violently anti-monarchy and anti-eugenics. What can I say? Entropy is the way of the world."

A curious thought struck me. "Young people"…like me? I'd never really thought of myself as young.

"Zero."

"What?"

"This arguing back and forth is getting tiresome. Tell us what you plan to _do._"

* * *

After the conference, I set the receiver down and waited for Shirley to say something. I didn't have to wait long.

"I remember…" she said. "…I remember when mother walked into her garden one day and found out that all of the fruits our pear tree were shaped like little Buddhas."

She gave a soft little laugh.

"She brought one to me and asked if she was going crazy. When I said that she wasn't, she practically dragged me out to the garden. She was sure that one of our neighbors had been sneaking into our yard and cutting them, but she couldn't decide whether to laugh or to call the cops. Also couldn't figure out how they'd done it while leaving the skins attached."

I got an antsy feeling in my legs and shuffled, crossed, uncrossed, and recrossed them a few times. The chair creaked with every movement. It occurred to me that it was a little rude to interrupt Shirley's story that way, and I tried to figure out where to direct my apologetic smile. No luck—try making eye contact without sight sometime. In the end, I just sighed and tried to keep the conversation going.

"What happened?" I asked.

Something bumped against the tabletop. From its extra tilt, I guessed that Shirley had leaned her elbows on it.

"It turned out that Dad had been clamping the pears with little Buddha molds for months," she said.

_Should I smile? Is __she_ _smiling__?!_

"I…um…"

"You look confused. Is everything OK, Lulu?"

_Great. Blind as a bat __and__ easy to read. _

I gave a dismissive wave in what I hoped was her general direction.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Lulu?"

"What?"

"Why are you a terrorist?"

I laughed, deadpan.

"Ah, now that's the golden question, isn't it?" I said.

I heard a sniffle.

"Don't…please don't be flippant with me, Lulu. Not now."

I leaned back and exhaled softly.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Really, I am. It's just that that's a pretty complicated question to answer."

"I have time," she said.

My fingernails swished as they traced frustrated little scratches along the woodgrains. An obvious tell. I nearly kicked myself. It wasn't a mistake I would have made if I hadn't needed to concentrate so much on nonvisual cues.

"Well, _I_ don't have time," I said.

"Fine!"

The weight on the other side of the table lifted and I heard a chair scoot outward.

"I want to go back into the basement now, please," she said.

"Shirley?"

"What?"

"Why do you care?"

_Smooth, Lelouch. Very smooth._

The chair scooted again, and I heard the creak of a body settling back down.

"Because—"

Shirley's voice cracked. She breathed a few times to steady herself.

"—Because I care about what you do. I don't want you to be a murderer, Lulu."

I fell back to the default di Britannia reaction: I smirked and rolled my eyes.

"Trying to 'save' me, Shirley?"

"If you want to put it that way, yes!" she shot back.

"I'm too far gone for that by now. Maybe if you'd caught me a few years ago…"

"But I _know_ you have good in you, Lulu!"

I suppressed the urge to cringe at that line. Like most teenage girls, Shirley was occasionally afflicted with the delusion that she was living in a TV drama.

"You really _know_?" I asked.

"Y…yes! I've see you help people all the time. You and Euphie built free clinics for Elevens all over the country!"

"A political move. Nothing more."

She inhaled sharply.

"Lulu, you may think that just because I'm emotional and romantic that I'm stupid, but I'm not. You can't just _pretend_ to act nice if you're actually horrible. People would figure it out eventually. Even _you _aren't that smart."

I laughed in her face. Not that I could see it, but at least in her face's general direction.

"And who told you that load of nonsense?" I said.

Her voice rose an octave or two.

"My father."

"Oh…I...er, sorry, Shirley."

"It's OK," she said. The strain in her voice made it obvious that it wasn't, though. A long interval followed.

"Lulu?"

"Mmm?"

"It's true, what I said."

"No comment," I replied.

"You probably think that your brothers and sisters are popular, don't you? Despite being horrible, I mean."

My eyes shot up when she said that. A useless instinct, under the circumstances.

"Excuse me?"

"That's why you think that it's easy to fool people," she said.

I must have let a look of surprise slip past my guard, because she gasped.

"That's it!" she said. "It _is_ true! You know that your relatives are awful and you think that the Britannian people love them anyway."

"Err…the Britannian people _do_ love them," I said.

This time, it was Shirley's turn to laugh.

"Euphie and Nunnally, maybe…And you, Lulu."

I put on my best sardonic grin.

"Shirley, you're telling me that single family manages to rule _sixty million people_ who don't like them?"

Clearly, she'd expected that response.

"Yes," she said firmly. "We're afraid of them. Nobody challenges them because we don't know what their resources are. It's pretty scary going up against a family of geniuses."

_Tell me about it..._

"Yeah, well you don't keep a country intact by being nice," I said. "Statecraft doesn't work like an ethics class."

"Well maybe it should," she said.

"It never ceases to amaze me," I grumbled, "that the hypocrites in the Britannian church manage to make so many otherwise intelligent girls into naïve idealists."

I expected an angry retort. Instead, she just gave a cute little 'hmph'.

"And it never ceases to amaze _me_," she replied, "that your upbringing allows a basically decent young man to be so cruel sometimes."

In spite of myself, I laughed.

"_Touché_. Still, I don't think my upbringing was _that_ bad."

She must have smiled, since her voice acquired a cunning lilt.

"So tell me about it," she said.

_Well played, Shirley. Well played indeed._

I must have regaled her a dozen stories that afternoon. I told her about the time I sold my greedy tutor a fake Ming vase and about my first fencing lesson with Jeremiah Gottwald, where he stood on his knees and recited _Annabel Lee _and STILL beat me. I even relived the embarrassment of the family talent show when I was six years old. Mom wanted me to do a dance, and I opted for Fred Astaire's firecracker number. I nearly burned Carine's dress to cinders. (Good times…) You probably know most of them. Shirley published a big collection before she died—_Britannian Reminisces,_ she called it. I still have a first-edition copy on my shelf somewhere.

After she'd had her fill, I sat back and closed my eyes. Since I couldn't see anyway, it was becoming their default position. I visualized a board and started playing chess with myself to keep awake. A few minutes passed.

"Lulu?" Shirley said

"Hmmm?"

"What are you going to do about Villeta?"

I groaned inwardly. Was she being deliberately dense, or did she actually mean it?

"I sent Sayoko to kill her this morning," I said.

The sound of skin hitting skin. She didn't say anything for a little while, so I suspected that she'd just clasped her hands over her mouth.

"Shirley?" I said. "You still there?"

_Question: Does my question sound pathetic because I'm deliberately trying to invite sympathy or because I'm actually pathetic? _

_Answer: Indeterminate._

"I…I want to go back to the basement now, please," she said.

I reached out my hand.

"Fine. Could you lead me there?"

_Revised Answer: Definitely the latter._

At the time, I came up with plenty of good excuses for calling Shirley back and trading stupid childhood stories. Perhaps I wanted to stay on her good side to avoid the possibility of escape. Maybe I thought that I'd need her to dial the phone again. Heck, maybe I was attracted to her.

Looking back on it now, all of those things probably played a role, but I think the main thing was that I was scared. I've rarely been afraid in battle or playing down-to-the-wire intrigue—and I say that without any arrogance, since it was the geneticists' choice, not my own efforts, that made me that way—but what I faced that afternoon was something else again. In battle and in politics, I've always had some faith in my ability to affect events. At that moment—trapped in my own house and unsure if I'd ever be able to see again—I had no control. All other things being equal, I've always preferred to make arrangements so that my allies can't harm me even if they wanted to. Now, I was dependent on the goodwill of someone who by rights should have been an enemy. I couldn't even read her anymore.

_Murphy old pal, here's to you._

* * *

I woke up to more shrieking, which meant that it was morning again. Or that it was afternoon and I'd slept through the morning alarm. Or…

…Or it wasn't an alarm clock at all.

I shot out of bed and traced my way along the wall to the living room. Before I got there, one of my legs caught against an outstretched foot. I tripped and smashed my face into the hardwood floor. I tried to pry myself up. Something hard slammed against my stomach and knocked the wind out of me. I tried to try to catch my breath again and got a little oxygen and a lot of blood through my nostrils. My irritated lungs hacked and wheezed most of it up again.

Another blow hit me in the ribs.

"Enough!" someone shouted. "We don't want the Britannian government after us."

A gruff voice from above me that I guessed belonged to my attacker replied with poorly concealed scorn.

"You stupid or somethin'? What do you think happens when this little prick sics his knightmares on us, huh?"

The first one giggled. Even in my extreme pain, that struck me as odd. It was the kind of sound a child would make, but the speaker had to be at least twenty.

"I'll be long gone by the time he gets his sight back," he said. Then he giggled again. "As it turns out, I don't even _need_ you. The Diclonius isn't here, the maid's gone, and I could have grabbed C.C. on my own."

"Yeah?" the gruff one replied. "Well _I _ain't satisfied. I want revenge for—"

"Yes, yes," the first one sighed. "Your _eyes_. I know. Your thoughts won't shut up about them. Tell you what…"

A foot prodded my cheek. I fought the urge to shudder.

"You there! Lelouch!"

My breathing had barely returned to normal. I tried to get out "what?" and failed miserably.

"Hmm….what a bother," he said. "Oh well. I can hear your thoughts anyway."

_A telepath?_ I wondered.

"Yes," he said. "Now look here: I can't kill you, and I already have C.C. so I really don't care very much. Now _Bando_ on the other hand—Ah! So you _remember _Bando? Figures you would—Anyway, he still wants revenge for his…ahem…_accident_."

Bando growled above me.

"Er…anyway," the first one said, "you and I both know that you can't go to the authorities about this, and we both know that you need C.C. badly. Now we _could_ just wait around for the Diclonius to get home, but that would be rather awkward since you don't know when she's coming either and I'm an impatient man."

Rather than speak, I decided to use the mind reading to my advantage.

_So what's your deal?_ I thought.

"Simple," he said. "I'll give you a chance to get C.C. back. Sometime in the next week, I'll give you a call and tell you where to find us. Then you can send your pet Diclonius and try your luck."

_Into a trap? You must be joking._

"Don't waste your time arguing, boy. We both know you're arrogant enough to think you can outsmart me. You'll send her."

_Who __are__ you, you son of a bitch? And what do you want with C.C.?_

"That's for me to know and you to find out," he sniffed.

Two pairs of footfalls left the room. I started calculating. I had a couple days to prepare. If I didn't get my sight back before then, I'd still have Sayoko and Lucy. They knew Tokyo like the back of their hands. Lucy hadn't recovered her vectors yet, but I'd still lay 50-50 odds on her in a fight against Bando. He had the element of surprise, but Sayoko had forgotten more about concealment than a crazy policeman would ever know. If they worked together—

The sound of clapping interrupted my thoughts. One of them must have stopped at the door. The childish one, obviously.

"Clever," he said. "Except for one thing: Sayoko's dead. They got her after she assassinated Villeta"

_What?!_

He tittered.

"Oh, so you think I'm lying? I'm hurt. Really, I am."

I heard rustling. Rolled-up newspaper smacked against the floor in front of me.

"See for yourself—Oh, Hahaha! Sorry! I mean, ask Shirley to do it. I'm sure she'd be happy to help. She has a thing for crippled teenagers with Napoleonic complexes."

_If you can hear this, _I thought, _then you should know that I'm going to kill you. Whoever you are._

He 'tsk-tsk'ed.

"You seem to be killing a lot of people these days," he said. "Let's see …there's Villeta…and Kewell…well, indirectly anyway…and Sayoko…Oh, yes! And Lord Jeremiah. I almost forgot about him."

_What? No! Impossible! Lord Jeremiah's—_

"Unkillable?" he taunted. "Apparently not. Really, Lelouch, you should have considered the possibility your surrogate daddy would try to take a bullet for Villeta. Er…Bullet? 'Take a bullet'? Hmm…Well, shuriken, I guess. Isn't that what ninjas are supposed to use?"

_GET TO THE POINT!_

"Well aren't _you_ impatient! You should thank your lucky stars that I didn't target Nunnally…yet. Anyway, Jeremiah's not exactly _dead_, but when doctors throw around phrases like 'mortally wounded' and 'never going to make it' in the newspapers, well…"

His footsteps headed out of the room for a second time. I couldn't see the clock, so I don't know how long I spent curled up in pain on the floor. Days, it felt like. And all that time, I imagined Sayoko's body torn to shreds from bullets. Because of _my_ order. Then there was Lord Jeremiah, lying on a hospital cot bleeding his life away. The man who'd more or less taken care of Nunnally and me in the years after Mom died.

I felt a tear run down my cheek for the first time in seven years--something I'd vowed would never happen again. I tried to suppress the growing urge to cry. I succeeded. My stomach heaved, but nothing came out.

_What to do...?_


	11. Turn 11: Lucy

**Chapter 11: Lucy**

**_Monday, 2:21 PM_**

* * *

_I met the girl after the festival, after the sounds had died away and the streets were quiet and the only hint of people was the quiet that had come, after long experience, to remind me of their looming intentions—that calm before the storm which foretold pain—and if it wasn't for the fact that Aiko was there with me, I probably would have run further, depriving Kurama of his victory when his soldiers shot Aiko and the only way that I could get medical care for her was to surrender myself again to the tender attentions of the men in the facility; men I knew were already devising new ways to make Poor Little Lucy scream and beg for the pain to stop, and who, despite my surrender, didn't manage to save the girl with the pale skin and shrunken features against the concrete floor of the warehouse, courtesy of the blood pouring from wounds too deep to staunch…_

* * *

"Ugh," Lelouch said.

I stopped reading and looked up, glad for once that he couldn't see the expression of hurt on my face.

"Wh—What's wrong with it?" I asked.

I flipped the notebook's pages back and forth, desperately scanning my work for flaws. If there was something wrong, I had to find it _immediately_. Then maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't look like an idiot. Had Lelouch been joking when he said I was as smart as his family?

"Not _wrong _exactly," he said. "But Lucy, dear girl, you've just written the mother of all run-on sentences."

"What's a run-on?" I asked.

He sighed and rubbed his temples.

"We'll get into that later," he said. "Right now…"

"Oh! Right."

Down went the notebook. I put my hands on his shoulders and rotated him as gingerly as possible. His slippers _flip-flapped_ on the linoleum as he followed my hands' guidance with little baby steps. When it was done, he leaned forward and gripped the sides of the sink.

"You're _sure_ I'm facing the right direction?" he said.

"Yes, Lelouch."

"Because if you're not, you'd better tell me now. I only get one chance at this."

"I'm sure, Lelouch."

_Don't you believe me? Do you think I'd lie about something like this?_

Lelouch sighed.

"Okay," he said at last. "Here goes nothing."

* * *

**_Tuesday, 11:52 AM_**

**_Somewhere in Tokyo_**

Mao. That was his name.

It took my informants four days before they could tell me even that much. I would have learned more if I'd been able to hunt for him full time, but Lelouch didn't want me near the house until everything was in place. He'd sent me to find work and lay low until the call came. If he didn't know where I was, then neither would our telepathic enemy.

So I became Kaede, the secretary with a recommendation from the royal family. Read: patronage.

Still, there were a few redeeming points. The other girls complained about how the job had made their conversations clipped, stilted. It carried over into their everyday life. Bring it on. The less time I have to spend trying to parse the inanities of human conversation, the better.

The phone rang.

"Good morning!" I chirped.

_Bleurgh_…

Usually it's hard to tell a person's age over the phone. No problem here. In the first thirty seconds, I'd created a mental picture of the man on the other end. He spoke in one of those ingratiating voices that all ambitious Elevens seemed to have. Practically reeked of social climbing. I had my prepackaged lie all ready.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm afraid Lord Garamond is out to lunch at the moment."

Aw. What a shame. The man was _so_ sorry to be a bother, but he wondered if it was _at all_ possible to take a message, _if I wouldn't mind_. He was _sure_ that Lord Garamond would be interested in what he had to say. He'd _really_ appreciate it.

I ground my teeth and took down his ten-minute-long message. The other girls shot me resentful looks, like I was tying up the line just for the fun of it. I glared back at them and wrote as slowly as possible. They pretended to look away. Passive-aggressive bitches.

"Sorry," I said. "I didn't hear that last part, sir. Could you repeat it _slowly_ for me?"

One of them—I wasn't sure who, but I had a pretty good idea that it was the short dumpy one at the back of the room—had reported me for being rude to a caller. Lelouch's royal employment _carte blanche_ had saved me from getting fired, but I'd ended up with a tongue lashing from my supervisor. As if I cared.

_Just wait till I get my vectors back, girls._

You're probably wondering how a desk job could annoy me so much after eight years of torture at Kamakura. Just in case you haven't figured it out by now, let me enlighten you: this was a cakewalk. Sure, the on-again, off-again unpredictability of waiting for the phone to ring brought up unpleasant memories of a certain ballistic testing range, but it wasn't that bad. What _really_ pissed me off was the petty stuff. Like the fact that we usually ate a late lunch because some girl didn't want to work that day, or that we had to spend twelve straight hours sitting down. Our desks were crammed so closely together that I was always bumping elbows with one of my coworkers. Half the time, they had a cold…which meant that of course _everybody_ but me was going to catch it, and _every_ girl but me was going to spend _every_ spare moment complaining about it.

So I started writing notes. To friends, enemies, and even strangers I'd passed on the sidewalk. They were quick, jotty little things that I crammed into my notebook during the five minute intervals between calls.

* * *

_Dear Mother,_

_Guess what I've been doing? Let me give you a hint: it doesn't run in the family. Yep, you got it: I've been taking care of somebody. His name's Lelouch. Yeah, __that__ Lelouch. Bet you didn't see that one coming when you left me in a field somewhere, did you? He's wonderful, and maybe someday I'll be a royal mistress. Perhaps even queen. Think about that when you're rotting in whatever Shinjuku rattrap you're living in these days._

_Lots of Love,_

_Lucy_

_

* * *

  
_

Another call. I flipped the page over and answered in the breathless saccharine voice that I'd heard other girls using.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?"

And of course, it was a woman.

* * *

_Lelouch,_

_How can I sum up my emotions in the last few days? You'd probably know better than I do anyway…like always. _

_Anxiety? Definitely. I've never taken care of somebody in my life before. When I saw you sitting in that chair and staring sightlessly ahead, I nearly lost my mind. MY memories had done this to you. To see you as an invalid after watching you toying with princes was too much. But I had to soldier on, didn't I? That was the other part. I could finally be really useful to you. I could take the first short step toward paying off that unbearable, impossible debt. And yet…Even as you stumbled around the house with your hands stretched out to avoid bumping into furniture, you were __healing__ me…_

_As you can see, it's complicated._

_I'm just thankful that you'll never read this. Well, maybe someday, when we're old and wrinkled and can look back on this and laugh. If we can __ever__ do that. Not before. If only I could…_

_

* * *

  
_

The phone rang. I growled and snatched the receiver.

"What?!"

Haruna—I knew that was her name because she was wearing one of those "Hi! My name is ____" stickers—shot me a sour look from across the desk. I imagined her dying in twenty-two different ways.

* * *

_Dear Nana,_

_I don't know why I didn't finish you off in Saitama. Misplaced sympathy? No, probably not. I can't bring myself to pity anybody so stupid. Maybe it's an instinct with us—or just with me, since I'm the only one who can reproduce. We don't kill our own kind as readily as we kill humans._

_Enough philosophizing. I didn't write to you to speculate on Diclonius ethics. I just wanted you to know that I'm happier now than you'll ever be. I have a real life now. Real attachments. Like the human families I used to watch on TV before they caught me. Maybe someday you'll learn what that's like...but not if you stick with Kurama._

_I wonder, though…_

_

* * *

  
_

Yet again, the phone interrupted me. Not that I cared much this time. The Lelouch letter was the only one that I might want to finish someday. I planned to rework it until it was perfect. As for Nana, I didn't even know if she was still alive.

I forced my lips into a grotesquely exaggerated smile. It was an old trick that Lelouch had taught me. He'd said it made you sound cheerful over the phone.

"Good morning!" I said. "Lord Garamond's office. Kaede speaking!"

* * *

_Kurama,_

_I almost didn't write to you. I hear you're the new director at Kamakura after the Kakuzawas were executed. Congratulations._

_Did Mariko escape? Oh yes…I know all about her. Kakuzawa Junior used to tell me about it during his disgusting attempts to seduce me over the com line. I bet you're debating whether to let her escape, aren't you? I hope you don't make that mistake. While it would be poetic justice to see you torn to shreds by your own daughter, that's __nothing__ compared to what I'm going to do to you._

_When you chained me up cold and shivering in that firing range of yours, you and your boss seemed all powerful. Lords of creation. I thought you had everything planned out to the last detail, and that I'd never escape until the day I died._

_Well, I have news for you: I met somebody who can blow all of you out of the water. Even blind, he's a better planner than the whole pack of you. And I KNOW that he'll help me get my revenge someday. While I'm at it, I'll kill Mariko too. Right in front of you._

_So here I am, waiting patiently and writing cute little notes to you…Because I know that someday, I'll be coming to collect._

_Lucy_

_

* * *

  
_

I didn't think I had enough time to write another one before the phone rang again, so I just sat there and waited. And of course, fifteen minutes passed without a single call.

Oh, screw it.

* * *

_Kallen,_

_There's a special place in my notebook reserved for ways to kill you. I've done a lot of thinking over the past few days. Would __you__ take care of Lelouch like I've been doing, if situations were reversed? Don't make me laugh._

_I've already figured out how I'm going to deal with—_

_

* * *

  
_

NOW the phone rang. My head sank onto the desk.

"Just shoot me," I muttered.

* * *

**_Tuesday, 2:47 PM_**

**_Still Somewhere in Tokyo  
_**

"Lucy?"

"Lelouch! Did he--?"

"Yeah. Clovisland. Ten o'clock."

"I'll be there early."

* * *

**_Tuesday, 9:40 PM _**

**_Clovisland_**

I hate amusement parks. When I was a kid, I used to watch the blinking lights and smell the wafting odor of grease and sugar from a distance. That was as close as I'd ever gotten, except for one evening when I'd snuck into a carnival. Most of the adults thought I was part of some freak show and tossed me money.

This was different. The humans had all gone hours ago, and Clovisland seemed deserted. Without its electric lighting, the garish purples and yellows just seemed gray in the darkness. I sniffed the autumn air for signs of humans. Don't get me wrong: I'm not a dog or anything, but Diclonii _do_ have a couple advantages in the hunting-and-tracking department.

Then the lights came on. I dived over the counter of a concession stand and curled up under the popcorn machine.

The Ferris wheel roared to life behind me, blaring one tinny tune after another. Chimes played in front of me. Through a knothole in the wood, I saw a white-haired man in a visor riding the carousel, giggling. It was windy that night, and his hair blew across his face the carousel whirled around. It was halfway between creepy and stupid—just like the man himself. C.C. lay on the ground a couple meters away. Four neatly placed bullet holes on her shoulders and kneecaps kept her from getting up.

_Okay, so maybe Mao isn't __ALL__ bad…_

I quietly flicked off the safety and took aim, struggling to keep my breathing level. Mao still seemed oblivious. Just a few more seconds…

The wood exploded above me, sending splinters into my arms. One piece lodged itself just below my left eye. I scampered away, spraying bullets in what I hoped was Bando's general direction. Another bullet grazed my leg before I managed to duck behind a building.

Mao jumped off the carousel. His voice was silky, childlike, and precise all at once—like a six year old trying to seduce you by reading a sonnet.

"Yoo-hoo? Lucy?" he called. "I know that's your name. Tell me something, Lucy: why do you insist on hurting the man you love?"

My hand clenched across the barrel of the assault rifle.

"Oh, yes," Mao said. "I may not be able to read _you_, but I can read Lelouch. I saw it _all_ when I looked into Lelouch's mind. Yep, yep, yep! Ever last gory, GORY detail."

He laughed his revolting little laugh.

"Oh come, now!" he said. "Admit it: you're a living, breathing threat to him. Every moment you're alive is just one more moment he's in danger."

I ground my teeth and tried to block the noise out. Not easy when you're listening for sounds of Bando creeping up behind you. Mao's footsteps got closer.

_Come on, _I thought._ Just a couple more feet…_

The footsteps stopped. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then I heard Mao's feet making a "tap, tap, ta-tap-tap" sound on the gravel. The son of a bitch was dancing.

"AARGH!"

I slid out from behind the wall and fired a three round burst where I guessed he was standing. I guessed wrong—he'd already dived to the ground a few meters to the left.

_Shit!_

A bullet buried itself in my thigh. I threw myself backward just in time to avoid two more rounds as they chipped the edge of the wall above me. Mao clapped from the courtyard.

"_Well_ done! _Incredible_ reflexes! That was brilliant, Lucy! Just brilliant."

He must have cupped his hands over his mouth, since his next words sounded as if they came from a megaphone.

"Hey Bando!" he called. "Wasn't that _incred_—Oh! Sorry. Forgot that I wasn't supposed to give away your position. Don't answer that! Sorry!"

His feet scuffed the gravel as he turned back to me.

"Yeppers! Great reflexes. That must be why Lelouch still keeps you around."

_Excuse me?!_

"Like I said, I saw it ALL when I looked into Lelouch's mind. You _do_ realize he's using you, right? That he intends to kill you as soon as you help him get the throne?"

"Liar!"

"Nope nope nope!" he said. "No lies _here_, Lucy. That's _Lelouch's_ department. Me? I just give the truth: hard and honest."

He laughed coyly.

"You know, he has an entire psychological profile of you worked out in his head," he said. "He knows every lever to pull. It's really _glorious_ to look at."

I angled my rifle around the corner and fired two more bursts in random directions. He just laughed again.

"Can't hit what you can't see," he said. "Oooh! I'm getting to you, aren't I? I knew I would. Lemme guess: you probably think that even if I _am_ telling the truth, you deserve to be killed anyway. Righty-o?"

I raised my rifle for another barrage, and then remembered I didn't have much ammunition left.

"I'll take your silence as confirmation," he said. "Wow. Just…wow! Lelouch's profile was right! Amazing! He's done a real guilt trip on you, hasn't he?"

"It was _my _choice!" I shouted.

He sat down again.

"Or is that only what he _wants_ you to think?" he said. "Until a week ago, you would have told me that those cruel, heartless children at the orphanage killed your dog. And now, when Lelouch needs you to play all nice and buddy-buddy with humans, you conveniently 'remember' that you made the whole thing up! Hahahahahaha!"

I heard his body fall to ground. He rolled around laughing for a solid minute. At the end of it all, he gasped and caught his breath.

"Whew!" he said. "That was—ahaha!—that was hilarious. So the lab rat thinks it's all of her own free will, huh?"

_Is it possible…?_

"No!" I said. "I don't care _what_ you say."

"Really? What about your _other_ personality?" he said. "Hey, personality number two? You in there? Whaddya say you and I work together to take Lelouch out?"

I was ten years old again, naked and trapped in a deep purple void. My other self stared at me from behind her wall of bandages, except that she was now enormous. I felt like a mouse being watched by a cat. Somewhere in the distance, my mouth was speaking back to Mao. It sounded like someone talking underwater.

"My host wants to mate with the boy," it said. "Killing him might trigger a suicide attempt. I've already promised her that she can have him if she keeps quiet. Their children will serve my purposes anyway."

Mao's clapping hands echoed across the void.

"So we meet at last!" he said. "I'm sure I'll like _your_ version of Lucy a lot better than the other one. Shame Lelouch doesn't let you out much. C'mon…Why not just tell me what he's planning? I'm sure you could keep her quiet with Refrain until she gets over the little twerp."

The monstrous facsimile of me gazed down with her single unbandaged eye. She ran a finger over her swaddled chin, thoughtfully.

_No!_ I pleaded. _Let me out! _

She shook her head.

"An intriguing offer, Mao," she said. "But who says I need you at all?"

"Because _I_ know how the boy's treatment plan worked," he said. "Only I can tell you how to reverse the process."

_LET ME OUT!_ I screamed.

My legs were moving again. I felt myself emerging from cover. I was throwing my gun down…

"MAO!"

It was the sweetest sound I'd ever heard. I fought for my vision back with every ounce of my strength. I discovered that if I focused enough, the purple haze around me became almost transparent. It was like looking at your reflection in a window and then trying to see _beyond _it, into the room on the other side.

Mao turned to the honeycombed TV screens behind him. A face on the screen smiled back at him.

Mao clapped.

"Lelouch? Oh, well done! You managed to figure out how to hack Clovisland's system. And you did it _blind!_ Major points there, kiddo."

Lelouch threaded his fingers together and rested his chin on them.

"You're very kind," he said. "As it happens, though, I _didn't_ do it blind."

Mao's jaw slackened for a moment.

"Impossible!"

Lelouch's smile broadened.

"You couldn't have recovered that quickly," Mao said. "I _saw_ your mental blocks. It should have taken at least a month!"

"That's the funny thing about Geass," Lelouch replied. "You have to pay _very_ close attention to the wording. Technically, the Power of the King works as long as you maintain eye contact. It never says anything about being able to _see_ the other person."

Mao chewed his finger for a few moments, then gasped and did a little jig.

"Of course!" he shouted. "Ofcourseofcourseofcourseofcourse! You looked in the mirror and Geassed yourself to get over it, didn't you? Haha! Brilliant!"

He suddenly stopped dancing and smirked.

"Still…I don't see how that helps you much," he said. "Bando still has your pet diclonius pinned down, and you can't geass Bando because his new eyes are electronic. Oh, and even if you _could_, I'd sense you coming from—"

"—About a six hundred meters away," Lelouch finished.

"How did you--?"

"Easy, Mao. If your range was unlimited, you wouldn't have had trouble figuring out when to attack my house. And the yard around my cabin is about five hundred meters across. If you could read minds from that distance, you would have come some other time, because you knew that Bando would demand a fight with Lucy and she clearly wasn't there."

Mao gave the TV screens a thumbs-up.

"Well played," he said. "Useless, but well played."

Then he scratched his chin and leaned forward, raising his visor to peer at the screen.

"Hmmm…That would explain why you're sitting in front of the Tokyo towers. Great idea, except…er…aren't you missing one teensy little detail?"

Lelouch cocked his head to one side.

"Oh?" he said. "And what would that be?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Lelouch, but it's gonna to be a _wee_ bit difficult to reach me from there. Whaddya got? Some radio controlled attack planes? Or—Ahahaha! Oh wait! I know! I know! This is all a recording, and you're _actually_ waiting somewhere just outside of my range. That'd be just perfect!"

Lelouch raised an eyebrow.

"Mao, that's got to be the stupidest idea I've ever heard. No wonder C.C. left you."

Mao's face darkened. He pointed a shaking finger at the screen and then ran into the bushes, only to emerge a few seconds later with a chainsaw. Mao waved the saw at Lelouch's pixilated face, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"THAT'S where you're wrong, Lelouch! You _tricked_ C.C. into leaving me! We're going to Australia after I chop her into little portable pieces. And you know what? You're gonna watch me do it live from Tokyo Towers, because there's not a single thing that you or your stupid Diclonius can do about it! You thought you were pretty clever sending her, didn'tcha? Thought I forgot that Geass didn't work on her, didn'tcha? Well I remembered! And now you're officially SCREWED, Smart Boy!"

Lelouch threw back his head and laughed.

"Who says I only have _one_ diclonius?"

Mao's grin evaporated.

"Wha—huh?!"

I heard a scream somewhere to my right, followed by the wet smacks of a dismembered body hitting the ground. Lelouch grinned nastily.

"That would be Nana," he said. "See, she's very, _very_ loyal to her Papa. And as it happens, I geassed him to obey my orders right after he got promoted. Clever, eh?"

Mao jabbered something incoherent and shook his fist at the screen. It reminded me of the time I saw monkeys in the royal zoo. Lelouch laughed again.

"It'll only get worse from here, Mao. Tell you what: if you surrender now, I'll even let you say goodbye to C.C. before I dispose of you."

Mao found his voice again.

"Fat chance!" he shouted. "You can't come _near_ me as long as I have C.C.! If you don't back off, I'll chop her into bits so small that it'll take you DECADES to put her back together."

The chainsaw roared to life. Lelouch's smile dimmed somewhat. Mao must have noticed, since a toothy grin spread over his face.

"Ha! Gotcha! Now back off now or I'll—"

Mao collapsed in midsentence, screaming and clutching his head. The chainsaw dug a furrow into the ground and finally skidded onto its side, its blades whirring uselessly.

"On the contrary," Lelouch said. "I was just relaxing before the second act."

At that point, my other personality gave up the fight and let me go. I knew it wasn't surrender—just a ceasefire, a tacit agreement that we were stuck with Lelouch for the moment. She could still cling to the hope that I would mate with him and produce a new race of Diclonii. I could still cling to the hope that I would mate with him without producing children. Everybody's happy. For now.

I unwound the cord of nylon rope and hogtied Mao. He was in too much pain to offer any resistance. Seven minutes passed, and then a yellow Vespa tore across the field in front of me, kicking up gravel everywhere.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," I said.

Lelouch tossed the goggles aside and grinned.

"Where's our friend?"

I jerked my thumb at the wailing wreck onstage. Lelouch nodded and unstrapped his helmet. Then he lazily pulled a flare gun out of his coat and fired it into the night sky. Mao stopped screaming.

"Hold his eye open," Lelouch said.

I grabbed Mao behind the head and pried his eyelid open. He tried to bite my fingers, so I hit him a few times until he stopped struggling. Lelouch paced in front of his fallen adversary, hands behind his back.

"Well hello again, Mao!" he said. "So…Do you want to know how I did it?"

Mao tried to spit at Lelouch, but I knocked his jaw shut before he could. I must have smacked his teeth together harder than I intended, since I heard enamel crack. (Trust me: I know the sound). Lelouch faked a pained expression.

"I'm hurt. Ah, well. I'll tell you anyway," Lelouch said. "I knew you were a telepath. It's obvious from your lack of social development that you haven't spent much time around people. The descriptions Lucy got from her informants suggested that you wore headphones, and you were interested in the one girl who was immune to geass. Conclusion? You can't turn your power off."

Mao moaned and choked on something. Probably blood from his shattered tooth. Lelouch continued.

"So I asked myself: How do I beat somebody like that? Answer: I just geassed a few thousand people to walk to Clovisland and relive the most painful experiences of their lives in vivid detail….until they saw a flare and snapped out of it. Oh, and the Tokyo Towers background was just a blown-up photograph. Too bad cameras can't see in 3D."

Mao gargled and tried to squirm out of my grip. Lelouch chuckled and fished in his pocket until he pulled out a broken ivory chessman. He dropped it at Mao's feet.

"Checkmate."

Mao shuddered—whether it was from rage or terror, I never found out. Lelouch's eye lit up with an half-circular red symbol that he'd described to me a few days ago. Geass. The Power of the King.

"Mao, welcome to the Rebellion."


	12. Turn 12: Lelouch

**Chapter 12: Lelouch**

**

* * *

  
**

_**Below are excerpts from the diary of Lelouch vi Britannia. Five years from now, I'll probably be finished with the Herculean task of turning Lelouch's mess of notes into a workable biography. Until then, my haphazard arrangement will just have to do.**_

_**Besides, this is the Lelouch I prefer to remember, though perhaps not the one I thought I knew at the time. Someone whose mind was everywhere at once, in little fragments that fit together in only the roughest of mosaics. If you want to understand him—as I never did, and probably never will—then the extra sources can't hurt.**_

_**I figure I owe him at least that much. **_

_**I've taken the liberty of inserting one of my own diary entries later in the narrative. You'll know it when you see it.**_

_**--Lucy**_

_**

* * *

  
**_

_Tuesday_

_Visited Jeremiah today. Almost wish I didn't. He asked me whether I had anything to do with Villeta's death. She must have talked about a connection between me and the Resistance. Fed him a line about Sayoko working alone. Didn't buy it. Ordered me out of the room before he "said something he'd regret". _

_Felt ashamed for the first time in years. Don't like the feeling. Hope he comes around before it's too late._

_Maxim of the Day: "If princes, when all goes well with them, make little account of their servants, and slight them or set them aside out of the merest caprice, how can they be displeased or complain if their servants, so long as they fail not in any duty of fidelity or honour, leave them, and accept other more profitable employment?"_

_

* * *

  
_

_Wednesday_

_Jeremiah still won't see me. Doctors say he's getting worse. Stubborn, stubborn man._

_Maxim of the Day:_ _"A good cure for empty panics is to recall the number of like occasions on which your fears have proved idle. By this I would not be understood as urging men never to feel fear, but as dissuading them from living in perpetual alarm."_

_

* * *

  
_

_Thursday_

_Not long now. With Jeremiah, I mean. _

_Nunnally isn't seeing that guy anymore. Just as well. Jeremiah's not there to protect her. Hanging around a lot with Suzaku, though. Might be awkward--Euphie and all._

_Maxim of the Day: "There is no post or employment in the world wherein greater capacity is needed than in the command of an army, as well from the importance of the charge itself, as because it requires you to provide and arrange for an endless variety of contingencies. He, therefore, who holds such a command should be able to see a long way before him, and know at once how to repair mishaps."_

_

* * *

  
_

_Friday_

_Jeremiah, I can't apologize to you. You never understood the difference between Royal ethics and Noble ones, did you? Always "Do the right thing though the whole world perish." No can-do, old friend._

_Rivalz died in a subway bombing today. My fault. ALL my fault._

_Maxim of the Day: Honestly, who cares anymore?_

_

* * *

  
_

_Sunday_

_Goodbye, Jeremiah._

_Note: Time to take the gloves off. Too many people died for this already. I'm going to make it work. By any means necessary._

_

* * *

  
_

_Monday_

_Clovis getting edgy. Eleven boycott of Britannian tea must have pissed off his industrialist friends. Wants names of "secret" nonviolent protest leaders. Good luck. There aren't any._

_Doodle: _

_The Britannian Imperial Equation_

_Disobedience = Military Resistance - Effects of Britannian Violence, and D + V = Obedience _

_But..._

_Disobedience - Military Resistance = ????_

_(Must be one of those "imaginary" numbers...)_

_Maxim of the Day: "Whatsoever has been in the past or is now will repeat itself in the future ; but the names and surfaces of things will be so altered, that he who has not a quick eye will not recognise them, or know to guide himself accordingly, or to form a judgment on what he sees."_

_

* * *

  
_

_Tuesday_

_Milly throwing heart and soul into organizing this party. A tribute to Rivalz?_

_Maxim of the Day:_ _Lorenzo di Medici, would often say, " Be sure that he who speaks evil of us does not wish us well."_

_

* * *

  
_

"You're looking wonderful, Lelouch."

I couldn't resist the urge to preen a little in my frilly purple suit. The last time I'd worn this, I was fifteen years old on a date with Milly. In retrospect, the decision to wear it to her party was rather tasteless. Ah well. Too late.

"Who's the babe?" she asked.

I suppressed a groan. Milly always had such...straightforward...ways of putting things. Or perhaps she had other reasons for being blunt.

"Madam Prez, this is Kaede," I said, stepping aside so they could shake hands. Milly kept her arms crossed in front of her chest and looked Lucy up and down with a lopsided smirk. Lucy's hands clenched against her dress.

"I told you about her earlier," I said. "Remember? This is the girl who's going to be enrolling in Ashford in a couple days."

"Yeah, I guess," Milly said. She tinged her voice with feigned boredom. Lucy's trademark death stare warmed up.

"Prez, huh?" she said. "That's an...unusual nickname."

Milly tilted her head to one side and stared at Lucy as if trying to figure out if she was joking or not. I chuckled politely.

"English isn't her first language," I said. "She isn't up on the lingo yet."

I turned to Lucy.

"Lu--Kaede, 'Prez' is short for president. This girl's the most important student in Ashford Academy. She organized this dance."

Lucy snorted and turned to me as if Milly wasn't there.

"Then I'd better keep on her good side, shouldn't I? What's her real name?"

Milly's smile thinned. A minor miracle.

"_My_ name is Milly," she said. "And--"

A bespectacled man in a lab coat stumbled between us.

"--And this is Lloyd, her fiance," he said. "Lloyd, meet Kaede. Kaede, meet...Oh, wait..."

He turned to Milly.

"_You_ were supposed to say that, weren't you? Oh well. Hi, Lelouch."

_Fiance?!_

Lloyd grinned and thrust his palm at me. I suddenly realized that my jaw was hanging open. I closed it and willed my hand to move into handshaking position.

"Er...Hi, Lloyd."

Lloyd's weaselly face turned to Lucy.

"Ooh! Good taste, Your Majesty."

He turned a pirouette and gave her a theatrical bow. Lucy cringed when he kissed her hand, as if he was wiping quicklime on her.

"Earl Asplund," she said curtly.

Lloyd's head snapped up when he heard her voice. His eyes narrowed and he scanned her face. I stole a glance around the room to make sure no one was looking in case I needed to activate my Geass.

"Um, Lloyd?" Milly said. "You know each other or something?"

Her question seemed to snap Lloyd back to reality.

"Eh? She reminds me a bit of someone..."

His voice drifted off. A long silence followed.

"So...Lloyd's your fiance?" I said. I did my best not to sound disgusted. How well I managed that trick is up for debate.

"Huh? Oh. Yes," Milly said.

When Milly was a kid, she'd blow out her birthday candles and wish for "lots of fun and enough cute guys to share it with". I stuck a hand in my pocket and tilted my wine glass back and forth until the dark liquid swirled around it. A little tempest.

"That's...um...congratulations, Milly. It's sudden, but...

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Milly's eyes shift to the floor. So _that_ was what it was all about, then.

"My parents arranged it," she said. "We Ashfords aren't like royals, Lelouch. We can't wait forever."

She looked up at me and forced a whimsical little smile.

_Ouch..._

That was the thing about cheerful little Milly: when she wanted to guilt-trip you, she _nailed_ you. Without thinking, I fell back to my family's first instinct for situations like that: I counterattacked.

"Oh, you never know," I said. "Maybe he'll like Keats more than I did."

Lucy shot me a quizzical look. It intensified when she noticed that Milly's smile had vanished.

"I...It was nice seeing you , Lelouch. I'd better see how the other guests are doing."

As Milly turned away, I noticed a small drop of moisture on the corner of her eye. Great. The one thing I couldn't say, and I'd said it.

"She's suspicious of me," Lucy hissed.

_That _had been a sight I'd never expected to see--laughing, perky Milly on the verge of tears. Perhaps Rivalz's death last week affected her more than I'd thought. Or maybe--

"Lelouch?"

"Oh, sorry Lucy. What is it?"

"She's going to be trouble," she said. "And I didn't like the way she was looking at you."

I grabbed Lucy's wrist and spun her toward me. She didn't resist, which was just as well since she could have snapped my arm in half.

"No," I said. "You're _not_ killing Milly. She's just an old friend who's really protective of me and doesn't want to see me cheating on Kallen."

Lucy smiled at the 'cheating' part, and I realized that I'd hit the right note. She didn't give up, though.

"She seemed...attracted to you, Lelouch."

For a moment, I was tempted to reply _Who isn't?_ Then it occurred to me that it might ruin the party if everybody saw Milly's head rolling across the dining room. So instead, I sighed with feigned reluctance and 'confessed' a toned-down version of my relationship with Milly, sanitized for Diclonius consumption.

"Like I said, she's a close friend. She probably wants me to marry her because she'd prefer me to Lloyd."

"Sounds like a selfish bitch," she said.

"Honestly, wouldn't _you_ rather marry me than Lloyd?"

She giggled. It was one of the first times I'd heard her make that sound.

"That goes without saying," she said.

One more bullet dodged.

The sun had already drifted below the horizon and the room's only illumination came from the guttering candles in the chandeliers. I noticed that Lucy's eyes looked rather pretty as they glistened in the firelight (well, her contact lenses did. It would have been rather awkward explaining why my date had red eyes). The orange-gray shadows accentuated her high cheekbones.

"Lelouch? Is something wrong?"

"Huh? I...ahem...ah, no, Lucy. Nothing, really."

A pageant of silver buttons, gilt braid and white lace swirled around us. Young Britannia was on parade that night--laughing teenagers who'd had too much to drink (and putting more on board by the minute) and were having too much fun to notice. Euphemia danced with Suzaku at the far end of the room. Her gauzy pink dress fluttered and bounced with every step. She moved around Suzaku as if she'd been designed by a watchmaker--every step precise, _just so_, as if a dancing master had instructed her as soon as she was old enough to walk...

...which he had, incidentally.

Suzaku followed as best he could, like a bull trying to catch a matador. Euphie's white gloves were cupped around her mouth, which meant that she was laughing. All around them, other partners clacked and spun their way across the mirror-glass floor, like planets orbiting a central star. The boys wore a mix of blues, blacks and purples with the occasional silver trim. Most had long hair, as young men were wont to do in my day. Some of the older-fashioned ones still wore the frilly cravats that their fathers and grandfathers would have worn. A few--they were the bolder ones--wore the rakish cloth-of-gold neckties that scandalized the older generation. We heard a muffled _pop-pop-pop_ above us that signaled that the fireworks had begun at last. A wave of soft chatter worked its way across the room, and a few of the younger dancers drifted over to the windows to see the sky light up.

Most of the older ones were content to see the reflection of the fireworks' light on their partners' faces. Myself included. I say it without embarrassment, since I'm as human as the next man.

Well, almost.

I can still see them now. Christine, who'd worn stick-on earrings on her eyes in first grade and couldn't get them off again for three solid hours, danced with one of the newer boys whose name I never learned. Archibald and Melanie were necking behind one of the potted plants. I laughed when I thought back to the time they'd chased each other through the lawn sprinklers during my eleventh birthday party. We'd been playing red light - green light at the time (well, _they_ were playing. I'd already worked out the "red/green" caller's timing in the first minute and a half), and Melanie had dumped Archibald's light-up sneakers in the pool. Melanie had helped me sew my Philistine costume for Halloween one year (I was going through an anti-art phase courtesy of Clovis's ugly paintings hanging all over the palace, and I thought the pun would be rather appropriate. Cornelia went one better: she dressed up as Rameses II and hit me with a plastic _khepesh_). Then there were the De Coucy twins, who'd slumped over each other by the punchbowl. One of them--I think it was Walter--lay on the table. Wet ringlets of his curly hair were already submerged in a puddle of spilled punch. They'd been my flanking force when I'd organized my fellow seventh graders in laser tag battles.

Ah, the days before DVDs...

You're probably wondering: What's with the sudden descent into purple prose? C'mon, Lelouch. Do we _really _need to know all this stuff? Well, yes. I suppose there are a couple reasons. First off, it's _my_ story. Mainly, though, I want to give you an idea of what Britannia was like in those days. I didn't know it at the time, but that dance was the Empire's swansong. It's my last untainted memory of Britannia at its zenith--the days of willing commoners and easy money.

I'd learned as a child that luxury made you weak and frivolous. True enough. Dad had raised us to hide an iron fist beneath our well-tailored calfskin gloves. That night, though, I let the iron rust and enjoyed the pageantry. I've never regretted it.

Most children of noble families these days don't know what the Empire really _was_. If you ask them, they'll give you a vague picture of rot and corruption that they've learned from their second-rate history books. I'm the first to admit that there was a lot of that--heck, I was _part_ of it--but there's another piece of the picture that gets lost in the shuffle. Britannia was _alive_ in those days. Alive and vibrant. As we danced across the mirrored floor that night, stepping on the stars, I'm sure we all felt like the lords of the universe.

No, that's not quite right. We didn't 'feel' it. We _knew _it, with every fiber of our beings. We were the first children of the first children of the first children of the oldest bloodlines in the world, with all the self-assurance that this implies. And if the champagne was a little flat or our dates were a little ugly (and they weren't, of course), well, that didn't matter, you see. It was in that moment that I finally realized why we still dressed in eighteenth century style. When our defenses were down from the heady mixture of alcohol and teenage infatuation, we didn't just _dress _like our ancestors. We _felt_ like them. Centuries of tradition pumped through our veins that night, and more than one of us must have imagined our forefathers standing by and urging us on.

_Go ahead, kiss her! Live! Take your turn at the wheel; we've even kept it warm for you. Sure, it may twist and jerk in your hands tomorrow, but tonight the sea is calm and the air is warm._

It was the closest thing to kinship I've ever felt with any group of people. _That's_ what they should put in their history books alongside the nepotism and assassinations. But they don't, because happiness never captured the imagination like misery does. And so our children's children will never know just how _good_ life could be.

Lucy seemed to be enjoying herself as well. People were probably asking each other who the Eleven girl was who had the _nerve_ to talk to Prince Lelouch. Let them.

"Lucy?"

"Yes, Lelouch?"

"How are you dealing with Clovis's new tactics?"

Her face fell, and her expectant look evaporated.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"No, it's just...I mean, I thought you were going to...Never mind."

She took a deep breath.

"The military situation is getting worse, Lelouch. They've already set up social programs for the postwar. They nabbed a lot of our operatives last night. Most of them because of the curfew.

"What? How?"

"They just moved from house to house with interrogation teams and rounded up our leaders."

"But the upper echelons should have avoided that," I said.

"Not really. Their net was wide enough that they could put our leaders in a lineup and wait for their collaborators to name them. Those census cards made it so _easy_."

I groaned inwardly and tried to maintain a mask of calm.

"Perhaps it's time for a mass card-burning protest," I said. She nodded.

"Whatever you can do, Lelouch."

"Did you free Tohdoh yet?"

She gave me a confused look.

"Huh? But I thought you knew..."

"Knew what, Lucy?"

"The Britannians executed him while you were out of action."

_Oh. Right. The 'Execute in 24 Hours' policy. _

I raised my hands in frustration as if beseeching the heavens.

"Well, that's one opportunity shot to pieces," I said. "No pun intended. At least tell me you got some propaganda value out of it."

She shook her head.

"We tried, but Britannia swamped the airwaves. It's a lot harder to get people to listen to us when the Britannians are telling the whole story for once."

I noticed that I'd stopped dancing completely, and was pacing in front of Lucy my hands behind my back. I stopped before someone noticed.

"All right," I said. "Here's what I'll do: All of these searches and interrogations are probably interfering with the Elevens' daily lives. I'll get some protests organized. In the meantime, Euphie and I will schedule an interview with Diethardt about how terribly the poor little Eleven civilians are being treated. Cornelia gave her men a _carte blanche_, so it shouldn't be hard to dredge up a few atrocity stories. Now what I need _you_ to do is--"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a female figure striding purposefully toward Suzaku as Euphie spun him around the dance floor. Kallen. Her knuckles were white, gripping something.

"What do you want me to do?" Lucy asked.

"Er...Excuse me," I said.

Lucy shouted something I didn't hear. I hurried after Kallen as fast as I could gracefully pull off in a crowded ballroom. Something in her hand glimmered in the candlelight. She was a few feet away when I clapped my hand around her wrist.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I said.

"Let me go! Don't think I'm going to cut you slack just because--"

"Don't be an idiot," I snapped as loudly as I dared. "Do you have any idea how badly this would backfire if the media found out that Zero had the most popular Japanese-Britannian in history assassinated?"

"Zero _ordered_ this," she said.

_What?! _

"Then Zero's a bigger fool than I thought," I said.

I made a mental note to have a long talk with Lucy later on. Kallen's brows knitted together.

"That's rich, coming from _you_. If it wasn't for that Special Administrative Zone of yours and Euphie's, I wouldn't have to do this."

"I'm _not _letting you kill my friend," I said.

She gripped her knife all the more tightly.

"Watch me," she said.

Kallen shouldered me to one side.

"If you do that, I'll turn everyone from your organization in," I said.

She inhaled sharply and pushed her face a few inches from mine.

"Yeah?" she said. "Well knives are multiple-use weapons, genius. Maybe I'll just--"

"Dance with me," I said.

Kallen's eyes widened. Her upper body jerked backwards, both hands crossed in front of her knees.

"What?!"

"I want to tell you something. People will stare if we just stand here."

She hesitated, but the risks to her comrades must have finally sunk in. The switchblade clicked back into her mini-purse. I put one hand on her waist and we glided to the open floorspace on the room's far corner. Suzaku gave me a wink and a thumbs-up over Euphie's shoulder. I turned Kallen away from him before he could see her rolling her eyes.

"This'd better be good," she said.

_I aim to please.._

"I want you to talk to the Black Knights," I said. "Get them behind the project. If we succeed with the Special Administrative Zone, it could be the first step on the road full Japanese rights."

She still frowned, but her eyes narrowed slightly, searching my face. The look she gave me seemed almost...hopeful.

"Is this another political scheme?" she said.

I scratched my cheek and laughed.

"Of course. But what's the difference?"

She looked away and sighed.

"Figures," she said. "Euphie, too?"

"You don't know Euphie," I said. "The girl doesn't have a self-serving bone in her body."

Kallen's eyes rose again to meet mine.

"_That's_ the difference, Lelouch."

A frown slipped through a crack in my mask. She must have seen it, since she looked away again.

"Will you support me or not?" I asked.

She nodded.

"I'll...I'll do what I can, I guess."

"Good enough," I said.

The waltz wound down. I bowed and walked back to Lucy. She stood behind the snack bar, crumpling a golden goblet into a ball the size of a walnut.

Later that evening, Euphie declared to our merry little band of glittering, half-smashed teenagers that Suzaku was going to be knighted. Lots of glass-clinking and cheering followed. I clapped until my hands were red and tingling. Maybe I'd had a little too much myself, since I distinctly remember yanking Suzaku's arm up and down like a water pump. He took it well, with that wry smile he always wore when someone was imposing on him but he really didn't mind.

"Congratulations, Suzaku!"

"Hey, I couldn't have done it without you," he said. "Who introduced me to Euphie in the first place, huh?"

I noticed Nunnally smile at that and separate herself from the rest of the group. I made a mental note to go after her when the congratulations were finished.

"So...I guess this means that you're off the counterterrorism gig for awhile?" I said.

He laughed and patted me on the shoulder.

"I wish. They'll probably need me more than ever. Terrorism rests for no man, ya know."

"But..."

"Look, Lelouch. I know you're really protective and all. I appreciate it. Seriously, I do. But what's the use in getting knighted and acting as a role model for integration if I don't _do_ anything?" he said.

I scowled at my reflection the wineglass. Euphie's mother used to say that she'd meet a man who would break her heart. She probably didn't have _this_ particular scenario in mind.

"I'd at least expect _Euphie_ to have a little more sense than to risk the man she loves..."

Suzaku's smile waned. Euphie fluttered between us and rested her head on Suzaku's shoulder, all smiles and concilation.

"It's Suzaku's decision, not mine," she said. "Or have you forgotten how stubborn your friend is?"

I pretended to smile.

"I suppose you're right. Sorry, Suzaku."

His shoulders relaxed.

"No problem," he said. "It was really about Euphie anyway, and if she isn't offended, then neither am I."

_Oh, how __generous__ of you. You stupid, __stubborn, __mule-headed, ungrateful, suicidal..._

Euphie must have read my expression. She laughed a little too quickly and changed the subject.

"Speaking of affairs of the heart..." she said.

"Eh?"

"Aw c'mon, Lelouch," Suzaku broke in. "That Japanese girl you brought. She seemed pretty unhappy when she left. What was that all about?"

He nudged me in the ribs.

"Is that harem you're building starting to get a little too complicated to handle?" he said with a laugh.

"Er...something like that."

"Good luck, man."

_I'll need it_, I thought.

I said my goodbyes. I must have still sounded sour, since Suzaku did his best to avoid looking relieved when I left. I caught up with Nunnally. She sat near the punch bowl, stirring the liquid in aimless little spirals with a silver ladle. On the way, an Eleven waiter slammed into my shoulder. He continued walking without an apology. It was a story that was getting more frequent these days—Elevens had stopped doing all the little things that add up to obedience when tallied together. Their healthy fear of Britannian power was eroding.

"Hey--!"

I didn't get to finish my sentence, because the waiter had already fallen to the ground apologizing when he'd recognized me. I helped him up and patted him on the shoulder before sending him on his way. Being known as a pro-Eleven prince has its advantages.

Time to cheer Nunnally up.

"Everything OK?" I said.

"Oh, fine. I'm glad to see Suzaku so happy," she said.

"Yeah...about that. Look, Nunners. I know you've always been a little attracted to Suzaku. I'm sorry it didn't--"

Her face shot up from the punch bowl with a look of wide-eyed surprise.

"Oh no!" she said. "No, Lelouch. That's not it at _all_."

"It...isn't?"

She patted my hand. To this day, my little sister's hands are the softest I've ever felt. It's as if she'd spent her life hooked up to an intravenous moisturizer container.

"Don't worry about me," she said. "I've always been concerned about Suzaku, that's all. Killing his father when he was still a child....it have been terribly hard on him. He deserves whatever happiness Euphie gives him."

At first, my mind didn't even process the middle part.

"That's really nice of you, Nunners. I..."

_Wait. What the...?_

"How did _you_ know about Suzaku's father?!" I yelped.

She sighed and playfully ruffled my hair.

"You're not the only one with sources, Brother. Enjoy the dance."

She got up and began walking to the exit. I was still frozen at punch bowl. Before she got to the door, she turned around and gave me an odd smile.

"If it makes you feel any better, you _were _partly right. I always had...well, _have_...a little crush on Suzaku. Good night, Lelouch."

I shook my head and sank into a chair, thankful that I hadn't mentioned the "world's largest pizza" part of the evening to C.C. I couldn't have taken any more surprises that night.

* * *

_Dear Mother,_

_I had my first taste of disappointment tonight. Torture, despair, betrayal--I've known them all, thanks to you. But disappointment is a new one. What do you do when you've been expecting something for __so__ long, only to have it disappear? In that moment, I wondered whether you felt the same thing when you saw me for the first time. Not that it matters--I'll still kill you for abandoning me if I ever find you. I even made a list. Don't worry, though: there are a lot of names before yours. _

_That gives me an idea. Perhaps there's more than one way to skin a cat._

_Lucy_

* * *

_Wednesday_

_Clovis still relying on Eleven police to run the civic organizations. Military separated into mobile response units. Work on this._

_Had a nightmare last night where Lucy killed me and took over the Black Knights. I need more sleep._

_Maxim of the Day: "Happy they to whom the same opportunity offers itself twice. For even a wise man may neglect or misuse a first occasion ; but he must indeed be a fool who fails to recognise and profit by a second."_

* * *

"We need to kill him."

"No!"

Diethardt took a step back. His voice softened and he tried a different tack.

"Zero, Suzaku is a major liability. Between Suzaku and that photogenic princess, the Special Administrative Zone is going to bury us."

I scanned the faces of my subordinates. Diethardt looked worried. Tamaki tapped his feet back and forth across the carpet. That must have been absorbing somewhere around eighty percent of his scarce brain power, so I didn't need to analyze him further. Kallen was scowling at me for some reason I couldn't figure out. C.C. looked as bored as ever. You'd think our conversation about her memories had never happened. And Ohgi...

...Where _was_ Ohgi, anyway?

"Suzaku stays alive," I said. "Killing him right now would be inadvisable."

"If we don't kill him _now_, we're gonna lose our recruits to the peace movement," Tamaki pressed.

Behind him, the television was playing a story about the Special Administrative Zone.

"Pah!" I said. "A limited movement for limited objectives. Nothing more."

Kallen's scowl intensified. My helmet swiveled in her direction.

"Something on your mind, Kallen?"

She didn't look away this time._ Hmm..._.

"I think we should consider joining them," she said.

_Kallen, this is NOT the time..._

I stood up and threw my arms out.

"Do you think the police will all mutiny spontaneously? That the military will just give up and stop shooting our people? Don't be a fool. Only terrorism can bring Britannia to its knees."

My thinning staff didn't cheer me on as per usual. Something was definitely wrong.

"Speaking of which..." Diethardt said.

"Eh?"

"If the peace movement is a dead end, we need to sabotage it before it drains our manpower," he said. "It would be _easy_, Zero. They're in the open. No security."

_Rock, meet hard place_.

I cut him off with a raised hand.

"The peace movement maintains high standards of behavior. It wouldn't accept most of our people as recruits. Criminal records don't wash with these people."

_Did he just roll his eyes at me?_

"Er...We could falsify documents," he said.

"I'm tired of all the killing and coutnerkilling," Kallen said. "If the peace movement can pull it off, let them! If they can't, let them fall on their own merits."

Diethardt scoffed.

"Brilliant idea," he drawled. "Let _one _side do all the killing..."

I fluttered my cape, sensing an opening.

"Silence! I'm not going to break the Black Knights up over this. Kallen's right for once: the peace movement should be allowed to fail on its own. We'll remain separate from it. We won't even operate in the same regions. If they can take some of the pressure off of us, fine. If not, let the Britannians take care of them."

I heard half a dozen "but's".

"Moving on," I said. "I'm bringing a new pilot on board. I've already infiltrated her into Ashford academy."

I snapped my fingers and Lucy emerged from the shadows behind my armchair.

"Gentlemen, meet Kaede."

Kallen's jaw dropped.

"You!"

Diethardt looked from Kallen to Lucy and back again.

"You know this girl?" he asked.

"She was dancing with Prince Lelouch last night. What's going on?"

I put my feet up on the desk and rubbed my hands together in my best cartoon villain impression. A tip for terrorist leaders: if you're going to introduce a new henchman, try to be flamboyant about it. Sure, it may not _help_ much, but there's a certain pride of craftsmanship that goes into the thing.

"Ah, so you noticed," I said. "Good. Kaede's your replacement. I expect you to show her around Ashford and--"

"My _replacement_?" Kallen said.

Something seemed different about the way she spoke to me. There was no mistaking the open anger in her tone. For the third time in as many minutes, I wondered what had been going on while I was out.

"Er...yes. As a girlfriend. You're too close to Lelouch these days. We're worried that he might start figuring things out. I've instructed Kaede to pursue Lelouch romantically after you dump him--"

She interrupted me again.

"That's....that's ridiculous!" she said. "You don't think _he'll_ have anything to say about that? The guy's smart, Zero. You don't think he's going to notice when we start fiddling around with his love life?"

"Has he so far?" I asked.

She stopped short of another tirade.

_That's right, Kallen. You'd have to admit that "he's" onto us if you want to go down that route._

The same thought must have occurred to her, since she tried another approach.

"What makes you think he'll be attracted to her in the first place?" she said. "You're going to throw away a perfectly good opening for something that _might_ work out? And just who is this girl, anyway?"

_Someone who'll probably kill you if you keep "dating" me_, I thought.

"Kallen, do I detect a note of _jealousy_? Hmmm?" I said.

Her face reddened.

"Whaaah....? No! Of course not! He's a valuable source of information, and I don't want to lose him...er...it. The information."

"We'll proceed according to my plan," I said. "It _will_ work."

"Yeah?" she shot back. "Like that suicide mission you sent Ohgi on 'worked'?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lucy smirk. The world seemed to pause and mute itself for a moment as the last puzzle pieces fell into place.

_Oh, you're a __clever__ little monster, aren't you?_

This time last year, she'd been stuck in a glorified test tube. Now she was starting to get a bit too cunning for my liking. Too indirect in her revenge. (Then again, she'd had a good role model). Worse, it had just cost me a good subordinate and embittered a second. Our little "talk" was going to be more difficult than I'd thought.

The world sped up again.

"To answer your second question," I said, "she's a knightmare pilot."

Kallen looked Lucy up and down and laughed dismissively.

"Yeah, right."

I grabbed a pencil and tossed it into the air. In roughly the time it took for Kallen to blink in surprise, Lucy grabbed a letter opener from the desk top and skewered the pencil in midair. The blade paused a few inches from Kallen's throat.

"Kaede?"

Lucy's eyes were fixed on Kallen's. I gently pushed her hand down again.

"It's going to succeed," I said. "Trust me like you always do."

Kallen opened her mouth and closed it again, then nodded and walked out of the room.

"Like I always _did_," she muttered as she left.

* * *

**To: **Euphinator63

**From: **LordByron111

**Subj:** With regards to our earlier discussion...

Euphie,

Yes, Cornelia's massacre of the protesters yesterday was abominable. Yes, I've already tried to get Clovis to do something about it. And yes, I just released a public statement condemning the attack. Now for the bad news: No, Clovis won't be able to do anything about it. You know as well as I do that Cornelia's more popular with the military by orders of magnitude.

As for the rumors that Eleven policemen are starting to turn in their badges, it's probably true. To answer your question about whether we can negotiate with Eleven protest leaders: Not really. They can't enforce discipline on their own people. Remember the time you visited the EU and told us about their quaint little democratic customs when you got back? Picture the same ideas, only weaponized. These people are practicing democratic freedoms (speech, press, bla bla bla) against a dictatorship so that they'll be all prepared when the _real _thing finally arrives. If we fail in Japan and have to withdraw, I pity the next Tojo wannabe that comes along.

Okay, back up.

Before you start daydreaming about democracy coming to Japan (and I _know_ you are, you starry-eyed idealist, so don't bother denying it), just remember what would happen to your brothers and sisters--your current correspondent included--if we get another Bastille Day.

One more thing: You forgot to mention in your last speech just _when_ you intended to open the Special Administrative Zone. No harm done. Wait until our interview with Diethardt before breaking the news, OK?

All My Love,

Lelouch

* * *

I arrived at the Clovis's operations room twenty minutes late, thanks to the curious fact that every monorail worker in the Tokyo region had fallen ill on the same day. Sure, it was necessary for The Cause, but the Elevens' passive resistance was getting on my nerves that evening. My limousine had to stop three times to avoid hunger strikers who'd plopped themselves in the middle of intersections. I nearly tore my hair out when we had to stop again for a gigantic funeral for some terrorist martyr or other. Still, I've got to hand it to them: they played it to the hilt. Britannia's always been a little leery of messing with their subjects' religions (most of us, Shirley excepted, are too indifferent to care anyway). A protest funeral was a pretty good way to get around that.

Bartley didn't see it that way. He came within an inch of mowing the entire congregation down before saner heads prevailed. (Read: Me.)

He got back into the car muttering obscenities--and spent the next five minutes apologizing for his "outrageous breach of protocol". I smiled at the former and tried to resist the urge to roll my eyes at the latter. Then he ranted for a bit about how useless it all was. What did the Elevens expect? That Britannia would suddenly come crashing down because they had a few annoying funerals?

I kept mum. Bartley was always an idiot. He never realized just how rapidly the battle lines can shift in political battles. I used the opportunity to mentally flip through the hours of testimony from captured terrorists. Secretly, I'd collected them in my closet over the last couple weeks, to the point where I was worried that some nosy housekeeper would stumble over them. As if I didn't have enough petty annoyances to worry about.

I looked out the window. The early days of Autumn had died a long time ago, and the leaves lay heavy on the ground. I wished that I could roll down the bulletproof window and listen to them crinkle. Perhaps the smell of leaves would have brought back memories of happier times, when Nunners and Euphie and I used to jump into the palace gardeners' carefully raked piles.

Then again, maybe not. I _didn't_ open the window. Besides, I'm too old for What-If.

And as I said, I had more important things on my mind. Like the fact that I'd arrived twenty minutes late.

The operations room was large, bordering on enormous. Picture a university lecture hall, with computers at every seat and a giant map of Japan on the floor where the lecturer should be standing. The map was covered with hundreds of red push-pins. Japan with smallpox. Do you have a picture in your mind now? Good. Now double the size of the lecture hall and imagine that the walls are made out of chrome. Add a huge screen on the main wall with Resistance cell organization charts outlined in neon purple boxes.

"Chrome? Really, Clovis, you've outdone yourself this time."

Clovis lurched out of his seat and beamed. His team of advisors separated themselves into two groups. The flunkies sneered at my disrespect of their chief and only managed the slightest of bows, while the genuine soldiers clicked their heels and saluted. As if the contrast in uniforms wasn't hint enough.

"Lelouch! You're here at last!"

I looked at the map. Two red arrows stabbed Kyushu from the Chinese mainland.

"So the government-in-exile's made its move?" I asked.

Clovis nodded. I pointed at the flare-ups of resistance that had pockmarked the province.

"Zero's launched a terrorist campaign at the same time, eh?" I said. "Bad luck."

_Almost as if someone had planned it._

"What am I going to do?" he asked.

His flunkies made consoling noises at him, while the military men curled their lips in disgust. Oh, it was a happy little general staff, I can tell you. I didn't need a second invitation.

"First thing's first," I said. "You need major cutbacks in propaganda department. All the rhetoric in the world isn't going to save you as long as Zero and company are still blowing up banks. It'll only be useful after we start winning. Ditto the social services. Every dollar you pour into Eleven housing and relief supplies will just end up funding terrorism anyway."

"But..."

"Okay," I said. "I know you're obsessed with the whole 'hearts and minds' thing. Fine. If you _must_ provide social services, do it in areas that you've already cleared of terrorists. Think of it as a reward for staying loyal despite the counterinsurgency operations."

"But there _aren't_ any loyal areas anymore!" he said.

"Then there's your answer, Clovis. Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your popularity's going to have to play second fiddle to _survival_ as long as Kyushu's occupied."

He touched his palm to his forehead and turned around. The pleats on his cape fluttered in and out like an accordion.

"Fine."

"Sir!" one of the technicians shouted. "Avalon is approaching the target area. Ready to release the Lancelot!"

Clovis grinned and clenched his fist.

"Excellent! Send in Kururugi."

He spared me a smug smile.

"Perhaps I won't need your advice after all, little brother."

I gave him my most fake smile and leaned back to watch the fun. Somewhere hundreds of miles away and thousands of feet in the air, my friend was soaring toward the largest army to cross the Tsushima Straits since Kublai Khan. His float system bathed the clouds around him in an eerie green light.

_crunch crunch cr--_

"Lelouch, are you eating popcorn?" Clovis said.

"Urff umsh...err...Of course not. Don't be silly."

I smiled and nudged the bag under the chair with my foot. In a pinch, I could always blame the young technician in front of me.

"Sir! There's something wrong."

Clovis wheeled around with a start. The Lancelot had stalled in midair as if waiting for something. I leaned forward and strained my eyes, looking for...

_Aha!_

A red speck appeared on the horizon.

"Impossible!" Clovis shouted.

_Famous last words_, I thought.

He turned to me, pointing back at the screen.

"Lelouch, you're the knightmare expert here. Is that the Guren Mark Three?"

"Guren _Mark Two_," I corrected. "And no. The Guren Mark Two is sort of pinkish red, and one of its arms is a modified fukushuhado. This one's black and blood red, and both arms seem normal. Zoom in, would you?"

The image enlarged, and I saw Rakshata's new baby in all its glory. The green shadows cast by its float system highlighted every streamlined curve.

"Yeah," I said. "I thought so. This one looks unfinished, judging from the weird shoulder pylon array. Experimental model, probably."

Clovis pressed the comm button.

"Suzaku?" he said. "Can you hear me? Lelouch's here--"

"Hey, Kururugi!" I shouted. Suzaku didn't reply, but I saw him smile in the small cockpit camera window at the screen's bottom right. Clovis glared at me. After living with Lucy for months, the effect was underwhelming.

"Ahem!" Clovis said. "_As I was saying_, Lelouch's here, and he says that the Guren coming at you is probably an experimental model. He thinks it's unfinished, so try aiming for the shoulder pylons."

"Right!"

The green glow intensified, and Suzaku rocketed toward the enemy knightmare. The Lancelot drew crazy zigzags to avoid suppressive fire. None came. The other knightmare just sat in the clouds, almost motionless except that its sharp, beaked head seemed to follow Suzaku's movements before he made them. Combined with its ungainly hunched back, it gave the impression of a vulture.

_Three, two, one..._

Suzaku launched himself forward, firing his cannon with one arm and probing for an opening for his sword with the other. The red and black Guren deflected the bullets and lazily sidestepped the sword thrust. As I'd expected, Suzaku covered up and leaped back. His opponent followed him. I'll say this for Suzaku: he fought a lot better on the retreat than I expected him to. Even as he sped backwards, he feinted and twisted around, leaving false openings for his opponent to rush into and impale itself . Suzaku's sword seemed to be everywhere at once, like a retreating wall of spikes.

Fortunately, the other pilot had much better reflexes than I did. Or any human, for that matter.

Lucy batted another thrust aside with one hand and retrieved a thick rod from her "backpack" with the other. Suzaku shot toward her, trying to exploit the opening. She leaned back, letting the thrust pass over her head. At the same time, she pressed a button on the rod. It unravelled at both ends like a telescope until it was a knightmare-sized staff.

_You have __no__ idea what this badass mother can do_.

I mentally disavowed that sentence as soon as I'd thought it, and chalked it up to spending too much time with Kallen.

Suzaku feinted low and whipped his wrist around to the left side of Lucy's head. I'd seen the technique before. He'd taken out a lot of good pilots with it, and nearly gotten Kallen once. Lucy ignored the feint completely and moved her staff across her face in perfect synchronization with Suzaku's own movements. The sword clanged against the middle of Lucy's staff. Without missing a beat, she absorbed the impact and twisted the staff so that the butt end slammed into the Lancelot's head. It snapped off and arced across the sky like a baseball.

A flurry of shouts followed:

"Lancelot's gone blind!"

"Power at twenty percent and falling!"

"Pilot uninjured!"

"Awaiting instructions, sir!"

"Shall we send a recovery team?"

"I can still fight, Your Majesty!"

Take a wild guess who said the last one. Fortunately, the dice were loaded in Suzaku's favor this time. The vulturish Guren turned to the Avalon and dipped in an ironic bow, then flitted away and disappeared into the clouds.

_Well done, Lucy._

I shrugged and I tried not to smirk at Clovis.

"Looks like we'll have to fight this campaign the old fashioned way," I said.

He didn't reply.

"Sir! Take a look at this!"

It was really, _really_ tempting to do a jig when I saw the Clovis's look of horror at the image on the screen. A blazing red arrow pointed at Tokyo from another front. The Black Knights were on the move.

"It's a conventional army, sir!"

I hammed it up a bit, beating the arms of my chair with my fist and screaming a few expletives to let them know that I was rather disappointed about this particular turn of events as well.

"Block them!" Clovis shouted. "We can't let them take Tokyo!"

"Cornelia's forces are tied down in Kyushu, Your Majesty!"

Clovis snatched the microphone.

"All forces," he said. "This is a direct order from your Viceroy. Take defensive positions in front of Tokyo as soon as you can. Hurry!"

And that, boys and girls, was how the Black Rebellion began.

* * *

_Testimony of Ichiro Sato_

It was supposed to be easy. That's what they said, right? Bank jobs are training for bigger things. We thought we'd get some of that action. It isn't fair. We did everything right. We shot out their tires to stop 'em from chasing us after the manager opened the safe for us. We locked 'em all in the bank bathroom sitting down so they couldn't radio the cops quickly. (_Subject rubs his hand across his forehead_). Shit, we even disguised ourselves. Like a bunch of kids on Halloween. Stupid imported Britannian holiday.

And then this white knightmare comes in and wipes us all out.

I just hope they remember me as something more than a common bank robber, you know? I mean, we didn't hurt anybody if we didn't need to. Those leaflets we distributed--a few got through, didn't they? The ones that said why we're doing it? Eh...I don't suppose you'd tell me anyway.

* * *

_Testimony of Akane Suzuki_

All right! I'll talk. We were in the records office looking for evidence of corruption. What did we want? Well, I guess we wanted to show how the Lord Rodney was cheating and murdering Elevens to pay his gambling debts. We did it at night so that we couldn't be seen. Huh? Yeah, it was for propaganda purposes. No, I don't know if any of them escaped. Ah! Yes! Yes I do! Just stop twisting. His name's Albericht Gordon. He's Britannian. I don't know more than that.

What? "The biggest factor in your capture"? This is like some sick consumer satisfaction survey. I don't-- (_Persuasion applied to subject_). Okay! I'm sorry. Please don't hit me again. It was that white knightmare.

Can I see my daughter before you execute me? Please?

* * *

_Testimony of Daichi Watanabe_

It was a fling, all right? We didn't mean to hurt anybody. Just get the radio station to broadcast the truth for a few hours. Heh...I mean, we didn't expect you to send that souped-up knightmare. I mean, shit--Suzaku Kururugi has better things to do than take out a couple college kids, doesn't he?

Look, it wasn't Chika's idea, okay?

(_Subject is asked why he didn't have an escape route planned, and why he stayed around for hours_)

I dunno. I'd never done it before. Maybe I should've. Is Chika all right? I'm telling you, it _wasn't_ her idea! Why won't you--

(_Subject is informed of his girlfriend's testimony_)

Huh? She said it was my idea too? How could she--? Okay, yeah. I guess that's right. What? No. I was telling the truth before. It's just...well, it's kinda hard on a guy, you know? You don't think your girlfriend'll blab on you like that.

(_Subject ultimately implicates his accomplice in the crime. Both hung._)

* * *

_Testimony of Chouko Tanaka_

Ha! Yeah, go ahead. Hit me again if you feel like it. I'm telling you: I work alone. Always have. Sure I'll tell you how I did it. I called in an anonymous tip about a bunch of Refrain dealers in that house across the street from where you found me. Just holed myself up in that under-construction apartment building and picked 'em off when they arrived. It was cake. You wouldn't have caught me at all if I hadn't gone down the steps to pick up their weapons.

What? Lucky? Look mister, luck had nothing to--

(_She is informed that the Lancelot had her in its sights_)

Oh...

So why didn't he shoot? Figures. He lets _real_ Britannians do his dirty work for him. Some Eleven.

(_Subject finally broke at 4:30 AM after application of Method 4B. All accomplices have been rounded up and executed._)

* * *

_Testimony of Isamu Takahashi_

We thought we had it all figured out. So there were these student demonstrators, right? They were chucking bricks and bottles and all sorts of stuff at the police. A couple had slingshots. Anyway, we divided 'em into two teams and had the second group get behind the cops. They probably wouldn't have started much more than that on their own, so we gave 'em a little push. Shot a few police from the rooftops, blew up a couple cars coming to help the cops we'd trapped, set fire to some stuff. You know. They thought they had us cornered with their vehicles at chokepoints. Big mistake there.

But then this knightmare shows up and picks off our operatives. Freaky. How did he notice them? That guy must have target acquisition systems like you wouldn't believe. But I figure it's not over yet. I mean, we've still got a bunch of angry students, right? So when they started sending in cops to make targeted arrests, we just formed around the target and beat the crap outta anybody who came near him. You shoulda heard that Britannian police chief screaming through his bullhorn. Shit, man. I thought he was gonna start shooting. That would've been great propaganda. No dice, though. They just send in that white knightmare and start p out of the crowd. Most of us scrammed like bats outta Hades, if you catch my drift. I've never been a good runner, though. Too pudgy. Heh.

(_Note: Subject was an avid talker, and did not need prompting to give a thorough picture of Resistance street tactics. Recommend modification of existing riot-control protocols)._

* * *

Clovis didn't fit in my apartment. Not physically, obviously--he wasn't much bigger than I was. I'm talking dress and demeanor here. There was something too_ grand_ about the man, too polished and makeuped. He fit beside my cheap wooden chairs and tie-on seat cushions about as well as the Trafalgar Square statue of Nelson would have done. Clovis evidently thought so too, since he used every break in the conversation to offer me some of his old furniture free of charge.

Lloyd, on the other hand, looked right at home.

"So what's with all the cloak and dagger stuff?" Clovis finally asked.

I smiled.

"Oh, I don't know about 'cloak and dagger'..." I said.

He shoo'ed at me with his unoccupied hand while he drank his tea.

"Nonsense!" he replied. "Come now, Lelouch. The middle of the night? Your famous sound-proof room? No guards? Just what are you playing at, Brother?"

"Well if you _must_ know..." I said.

He nodded. Nana stepped out from behind my chair. I beckoned to the darkened corner of the room, and a green-haired girl emerged from the gloom to Clovis's right and sat down beside him. Clovis jolted out of his seat, wide-eyed, and pointed at her with a shaking hand. His teacup shattered on the floorboards.

"What's the meaning of this?!"

Lloyd's eyes roved back and forth between us. He seemed more bemused than intimidated. Clovis, on the other hand...

"So you know about her?" I said. "Good. Dad will too, pretty soon."

"Are you blackmailing me?" he shouted.

"Not really," I said. "You're the one who's going to tell him--"

"Think again!"

"—right after you resign your Viceroyship to Cornelia and appoint me Sub-Viceroy--"

"You're mad!" he said. "Stark raving mad!"

"--and right before you kill yourself to bury the disgrace. And don't worry, big brother. The military won't miss you much."

C.C.'s head jerked up. For a split second, she betrayed a look of surprise. Clovis burst out laughing.

"You think you can blackmail me into _suicide_?" he said.

I formed my fingers into a steeple and bobbed them back and forth until it felt as if there was a plate of glass between them.

"Of course not. We'll get to that later. C.C.'s just here to keep you from trying to escape. You probably think that you can avoid whatever I'm planning, so you'll stay here until you can figure out how to get C.C. away from me. Wouldn't want Daddy to disinherit you, after all."

He sneered at me and reached into his jacket pocket. A warning click from my own pistol stopped him. Lloyd crossed his legs on my coffee table and chuckled.

"Mmmmm...._Interesting_. Tell me, Lelouch: Am I going to survive this family spat?"

I leaned back and mirrored his pose.

"Good question. You know something, Lloyd? A week ago I would have said yes. See, here's the thing, though: You're right in the middle of all of my problems these days." I ticked off points on my fingers. "Item One: You built the Lancelot, which is hampering my operations--"

"Traitor!" Clovis shouted. "Filthy, stinking traitor!"

"Item two--"

"How _dare_ you sit there with that smug little look on your face, you vile--"

"Oh, shut up, Clovis. You're screwing up the scene--"

"If Father knew about this, he'd--"

"ITEM! TWO!" I shouted. Clovis took the hint.

"Right then. Item two: Suzaku's going to keep piloting as long as the Lancelot project keeps going. And as it happens, I like the kid. Ergo, Lancelot needs to be derailed. Item three: You're dating Milly, whose family is selling her to you as far as I can tell."

Lloyd scratched his head and raised his hand as if he was a student. Weird tics aside, he seemed to be taking this surprisingly well.

"Er...question, Lelouch: Wouldn't it have been easier to simply _ask_ me to stay away from her? It's not unprecedented for the royal family to do things like that."

Maybe it was the painstakingly academic way that Lloyd phrased questions about his own death, but in that moment I was struck with the surreality of the whole thing.

_Eh, screw it. When in Rome..._

"Good point," I said. "But I'm afraid that wouldn't solve the financial problem. Sorry, Lloyd. I've decided that you're going to off yourself as well and leave your estate to your ex-fiance in your will. You know the old Britannian saying: the shortest distance between two points is a dead body."

Lloyd tapped his chin.

"Why not give her the money yourself?" he asked "I hear you're loaded."

"I'm cheap."

"Ah. Quite the quandary."

"Indeed."

"Enough of this…this obscenity!" Clovis shrieked. I cringed inwardly at the dramatic excess of the line, but decided to let it go. He _was_ about to die, after all.

"Stop toying with us and do whatever it is you intend to do," he said.

"Oh, I will," I said. "But first, I need—"

The phone rang. I groaned inwardly and picked up the phone.

"Hello? No, you have the wrong number. I didn't—What? I didn't order a pizza! _Excuse _me? Look, do you know who you're talking to? I'm Lelouch vi—Oh, so you don't _believe_ me, eh? All right, genius. Give me your name and address, and we'll see who's…hello? Hello?"

I slammed the phone down and rolled my eyes.

"_Anyway…_I want to find a few things out first. Mao?"

A white haired young man entered from the side door. C.C. bolted out of her chair and reached for the lock. I needn't have worried--Nana's vectors wrapped around her arms and legs and pulled her back into her seat. Mao leered at me.

"What do you want to know, Lelouch?"

"Start with Kamakura."

* * *

*********************************** End of R1 ***********************************

**

* * *

  
**


	13. Turn 13: Lucy

**Chapter 13: Lucy**

_The Britannian Daily Herald__: From the files of Lelouch vi Britannia, 2018 a.t.b._

_NEWS FROM THE FRONT!_

_As the war against Zero's conventional forces still rages—the infamous "Open Combat Phase", in Britannian military jargon—Area Eleven's countryside remains the site of bitter combat. Army insiders point out that Zero's thrust toward Tokyo would not have been possible without complete control over several regions in Area Eleven. __But the fight for the countryside is far from finished. In many areas, Zero's forces remain in their guerrilla state, unable to gain complete control. These are the regions that Cornelia's forces intend to target._

"_Like all wars before it, this one will end only with the complete capitulation of the enemy army," said General Bartley Aspirus, who took control of counterguerrilla operations following the death of Major-General Lord Barclay (no relation) in a bombing two days ago. _

_When asked if he intended to oppose guerrillas with counterguerrillas, the new commander was firm._

"_Certainly not," he said. "Of course, we have every intention of making use of counterguerrilla forces that already exist. In fact, many loyalist Eleven guerrillas are already opposing Zero's armies, and they have the advantage of local popular support. That being said, Britannia herself will not organize its own units. We're government, not a group of hoodlums. Using Zero's tactics would only sacrifice our advantages."_

_And outpost-based patrols?_

"_Our search-and-destroy sweeps are under serious reconsideration. We're finding that guerrillas mostly go around our outposts, and the local population informs the rebels of our commandos' movements before they make them. Our own forces can only stay in the field for a short time, and they get locked into using the same routes, especially on return journeys. That makes them incredibly vulnerable to ambushes, and there's never enough time to demolish the enemy's organizations. A few days on patrol doesn't cut it."_

_As for the Britannian policy of rapidly cordoning off an area and killing any guerrillas found there, Bartley believes that major reforms are in order. His clipped summary was as follows: "The area's too large, our troops are too few, time is too short, and surprise is never realized."_

_So what __will__ Bartley's new policies be? Will he bring more troops from the mainland for long-term occupation of the countryside? Here, the general fiddled with his jacket buttons gave us a rare smile._

"_Wait and see," he said. _

* * *

_SCHNEIZEL COMING TO AREA ELEVEN!_

_Odds are good that the tight-lipped general has already told one group about his plans: the Britannian Royal family. Three days from now, a cavalcade of royalty the likes of which hasn't graced Area Eleven's shores since the invasion will arrive in Tokyo to, in the words of one of Clovis's aides, "assess the situation." Princes Schneizel and Odysseus and princesses Guinevere and Carine will follow their inspection of Britannia's famous Glaston knights by attending the opening ceremony of the Special Administrative Zone. _

_The royals' opinions of this controversial project are mixed._

"_It's a very cunning ploy on Lelouch's part," said Odysseus in an interview with the __Herald__ yesterday. "It cuts the support right from under Zero's feet."_

_Carine le Britannia, everyone's favorite Hawk, has a different opinion._

"_It sucks," she says. "Lelouch and Euphie have always been pathetic about subject populations. It's disgusting to see them kissing up to the Elevens. No wonder Cornelia opposes the project. I hope it crashes and burns, and you can quote me on that." _

* * *

I hated Chaucer. I hated the man with a passion I usually reserved for people who were still alive—like Shirley, or C.C., or anybody else who wasn't Lelouch. My natural talent gave me the edge in math and the social sciences, where what you memorized and figured out was more important than what you _knew_.

Not Anglo-Britannian Literature. Oh, no. Literature was all about _nuance_ and _interpretation_ and all those other stupid, imprecise words that humans use when they want to make their bullshit sound mysterious and stimulating. It didn't help that the bitch who ran the class had a grudge against me.

"Kay-yaaaaay-dah!"

That was how she always said it. As if I was a runaway child and she was trying to find me in a fogbank. My fist crushed a No. 2 pencil into splinters. I jammed it into the shelf of my desk before she'd notice. It was my fifth of the day.

"Yes, Miss Ungern-Sternberg?"

"_Baroness_ Ungern-Sternberg!" she snapped. "Honestly, you Eleven monkeys have no sense of decorum. It's bad enough that you take advantage of our social services and that your filthy armies are trying to take Tokyo over…"

I stole a glance at Lelouch, three rows over. He just stared impassively ahead, unwilling—or unable—to help me.

_What have I done, Lelouch?_

I wanted to shout it across the room. Hadn't I done everything he asked? Suzaku was uninjured, the prototype was safe, and Kyushu was in Chinese hands. Wasn't that what he'd said he wanted?

_He's a liar,_ a voice whispered._ Remember what Mao said?_

_Mao was trying to trick me._

…_And Lelouch isn't?_

_Mao __admitted__ he was lying!_

_Oh? And you don't think that Lelouch's Geass had something to do with—_

"KAEDE! STOP IGNORING ME THIS INSTANT!"

_Baroness _Ungern-Sternberg's hands slammed onto my desk with a _bang_. Adrenaline shot through my muscle fibers at a mile a minute. I was ready for battle…and had nobody to fight. The stupid cow must have seen it, though, since she backed off a little.

"I don't like that look on your face, young lady."

_Deep breaths…_

I assumed my most pathetic voice.

"I…I'm sorry, Baroness Ungern-Sternberg. I was just startled, and…"

She sneered and gave a high-pitched, nasal laugh. The kind you make when something isn't really funny, but you want to pretend it is so you can take someone down a peg. One of the many charming subtleties of human culture. Before, my Ashford uniform had seemed tight and revealing. Now I felt as if I'd been wrapped in a medium-sized napkin.

"Oh, _honestly_ Kaede!" she said. "You Elevens are like rabbits. No _wonder_ Cornelia's wiping the floor with your national hero a few miles away."

I pretended to look down at the desk while I scanned the room for later reference. A knot of boys in the back traded looks and nudges. They'd be the first to die. Two girls in the front row tittered into their hands. Milly drummed her fingers on the desk as her foot twitched up and down. I suppressed the urge to snort. She was probably just annoyed to be stuck in a black dress and veil for that revolting ex-fiance of hers. Too bad. They would have made a nice couple. Shirley gave me a look that almost seemed like pity.

_You'll pity me a lot less after I convince Lelouch to give you to me as a wedding present_, I thought.

And Lelouch…

I snatched another glance at my future Emperor. He was scraping his forefinger across the carved indentations in the desk surface, as bored as ever.

No, wait. He was watching me. Watching me watch everyone else. It was so well hidden that I'd barely noticed it at first, but every few moments his eyes flicked up to one of the classroom's reflective surfaces.

I looked out the window. Snow fluttered into the courtyard and withered when it hit cement. A group of men cursed and tugged at a body hanging from a basketball hoop. A traitor. A chilly dust-devil picked up a couple of the leaflets piled around the body and scattered them into the air. They proclaimed "DEATH TO BRITANNIA" in gaudy letters, courtesy of the electric plates in Diethardt's underground press. This wasn't the first time that the Resistance had tried to get them onto school grounds. A week before, they'd scrawled it on the walls. The Britannians had erased it. Two days later, they'd used a homemade catapult to dump hundreds of pamphlets into the courtyard. The Britannians had picked them up and burned them. Yesterday, they'd sent a letter to every student in Ashford. The teachers had confiscated them.

This method worked a lot better.

I suspected that Lelouch had been at the bottom of it, perhaps as a way to encourage Cornelia to increase security around his little sister. Ironic how much blood that girl had on her hands without knowing it. Lelouch reacted to the unfolding scene as I'd expected: his face revealed nothing.

The bell rang.

Lelouch slipped out a few seconds early. I bundled up my books as quickly as I could, but by the time I turned the corner he'd already vanished. Somebody put a hand on my shoulder.

"Lu—Um, Kaede? Can we talk?"

I wheeled around and slapped her hand away. The rest of the class filtered around us. Most were too busy shooting nervous glances across the halls to notice. Ashford had had more bomb threats in the past week than in its entire history. Rumors had spread through the Shinjuku ghetto of a plan to blow the school to pieces. A lie, of course. Governments have much more difficulty with lies than with the truth. Corruption can be explained. Abuses can be prevented. Lies spread easily and die hard.

"You and I have _nothing_ to talk about," I growled.

I walked faster. Shirley kept up with me.

"You're faster than you look," I said.

"I swim a lot."

Shirley pointed to my mottled black-and-white notebook stuffed between _McLaughten's Chemistry_ _Praxis_ and _The Canterbury Tales_. Both new, by the way: a rarity in those days. Lelouch's artificial recession had seen to that.

"Hey…um….I didn't know you journaled, Lucy! Looks like we have something in common."

She flashed me one of her patented nitwit smiles.

"Oooh! You don't say?" I said. "Tell me: Does your journal also have a 'ways to kill Shirley' section?"

She stopped walking. Just as I'd thought. Another pampered little brat who'd never had to deal with real aggression. I turned around and smirked at her. Her bottom lip tightened. I'd seen that reaction before—usually from parents when they tried to shield their children from me.

Defiance.

I _hate_ defiance.

"You don't scare me, you know," she said.

I raised an eyebrow and looked around the hallway. Empty.

"Oh?" I said. "Well then maybe I haven't been TRYING HARD ENOUGH!"

I lifted her by the front of her jacket and slammed her into the wall of lockers. The stupid bitch tried to soften the impact with her outstretched arm. Apparently, she'd never had to break a fall before, either.

_Of course not. She's a __normal__ girl. __Normal__ girls don't get into fights, because __normal__ girls have mommies and daddies to protect them…You do know what __those__ are, don't you? _

"Yeah, I know," I said.

Shirley looked up at me when I spoke. Her body curled into fetal position, locked in a sob-gasp-sob-gasp rhythm as she tried to recover the wind I'd knocked out of her lungs. She rubbed her right arm gingerly. Winced. Kept gasping.

"That wasn't meant for you," I said.

She nodded.

"I…_ah!_...g-…_ah!_...guess…"

Now _this_ was good stuff. I crossed my legs and leaned against a locker, prodding a fresh bullet hole in the wall with my finger. Ashford's Eleven staff had tried to strike earlier that week. They'd planned it well, stockpiling enough rifles and Molotov cocktails to resist any attempts to arrest them.

No problem. Cornelia had just evacuated the students and exterminated the employees.

"If you can get that sentence out, I'll even agree not to slam you into the lockers again," I said.

Shirley's eyes bugged out. Fear at last. _That_ was the emotion I wanted to see.

"Lelouch said…" she began.

_How DARE_ _you mention his name to me?_

I grabbed her collar and yanked her into standing position until her eyes were locked on mine.

"I don't care _what_ Lelouch said. I don't care that Mao cleared you as a non-threat. I don't care _how_ long you've been friends with Lelouch. I know your kind, Shirley. You're all cowardly little worms who'll leave Lelouch in the lurch after you get what you want out of him."

I shook her. She wobbled like a bobble-head doll.

"It's sex, isn't it?" I said. "Admit it! You just want to sleep with him, don't you? You wouldn't know what _real_ love was if it walked right up to you and put a vector through your head. And in a week or two, that's exactly what's going to—"

"ENOUGH!"

_That voice. No. No no no no no no no!_

"L-Lelouch?" I whispered.

Instead of rushing to comfort me, he picked Shirley up and patted her on the back. The little bitch ate it up, moaning and crying and wiping her tears and snot all over his shoulder. I ground my teeth.

"Since you seem to like the attention _so_ much," I said, "maybe I should give you something to cry _about_. Tell me, Shirley, how's Mrs. Fenette these days? Does she still walk in her garden at eight o'clock every Tuesday like she she's been doing for the past two weeks?"

Shirley gasped.

"You wouldn't…"

Lelouch rounded on me before she got any further. He pointed a finger at my face.

"No, she will _NOT_."

With his finger still poised an inch from my nose, he motioned for Shirley to go back to class. She nodded, but kept her eyes on me as she backed away. Like a whipped animal.

_Mmmm!_ A voice purred. _Drink it in! The shoe's on the other foot for once…._

A vision. I was Shirley again, standing by her father's grave. _My_ father's grave.

_Loss. Grief. Pain. A pair of arms that will no longer hold and comfort me. A laugh I'll never be able to hear again._

Then I did something I hadn't remembered I was capable of: I sank to the floor and whimpered. Lelouch chuckled above me.

…_And this is fear._

I thrust my hair out of my eyes.

"What did you do to me?" I asked. My voice was shrill enough that I was almost shrieking at him. I was scared enough that I didn't notice.

"Me?" he said. "Oh, nothing. You can blame your little experiment with C.C. for that. Empathy's a bitch, eh?"

A lance through my heart.

"How can you laugh at me for this?" I said. "Is this…funny for you?"

_Please say no….Please say no….Please say—_

He shrugged.

"It's expected….Unlike your little scheme to get back at Kallen via killing Ohgi, by the way."

I must have betrayed a look of surprise. Emotions were always harder to control around him.

"That's right," he said. "I know what you were up to. I'm warning you, Lucy: Don't ever do that again. I'm not losing any more friends that I don't need to."

_He's going to betray you!_ a voice shouted in my head.

"And…and if I _do_ kill someone else…?" I asked.

His expression hardened.

"Don't."

So that was his answer, then. The bizarre empathic connection with Shirley died down. My chest no longer felt like someone had hacked a hole through it. I stood up and tried to meet Lelouch's eyes. For once, I managed it. He allowed me to rest a hand on his shoulder. At least, he didn't push it away at first.

"_Please_, Lelouch, listen to me. I know you can't see it, but they're _using_ you. You're _nothing _to Kallen and Shirley! You're just so _kind_ and generous that you don't realize it yet. Let me—"

"No."

"But…But why can't you see--?"

"Lucy, I'm getting irritated. If you try a stunt like that again, there are going to be serious consequences. I promise you."

It was like being hit in the face with a slab of ice. I stumbled back, slack jawed and speechless.

"I…but…but you love me…?"

He ran a hand across his forehead and groaned.

"Whether I love you has nothing to do with it!" he snapped. "You're _not_ killing my friends….or perhaps I should be questioning _your_ commitment, hmmm? Last time I checked, romance doesn't involve wiping out every other person in the guy's life, does it?"

Somewhere in my subconscious, a ten year old girl was screaming.

"You don't think I love you?"

He started to answer, then threw up his hands with a disgusted _ugh_. Without another word, he turned and left me standing in the hallway. I clung to the sound of each footfall on the marble floor, as if I could snatch them from the air and stuff them in a scrapbook.

_So he hates you. _

_No!_

_Hmm. Didn't look like love to __me__. _

_What do __you__ know about love?_

_Everything you do._

_I doubt it._

_You'd be surprised. I'm the Queen, aren't I? I yearn for the sound of my children racing across the fields. I await the time when I can embrace a horned girl of our own. I ache to see our species free and alive. If these things are not love, then your definition is worthless._

"No!"

I rammed my forehead against a locker. My vision reddened and it stung for a few seconds. Just enough time to climb back up the slippery slope. It was getting harder to do that, though. All right. What was it that Lelouch always said? Take a breath and plan.

Right.

_You can do this, Lucy. _

I sat down on the floor again and slapped the space next to me, motioning for the bandaged caricature of myself to sit next to me. Dangerous, but I was desperate.

"What's in our way?" I asked.

_Lelouch._

"No."

_Aw, come on. If you want to play that way, maybe I'll just leave._

She pushed a pale leg against the floor and creaked upward.

"Wait!"

That eye. It was smiling at me.

_Yes?_

"You want to mate as much as I do, right?"

It nodded.

"So help me mate with him."

_Oh, you're __wicked_!

She slid back into a seated position. The plastic tubes sticking out of her body scratched across the stone floor. Or maybe I imagined it.

"What's in our way?" I asked again.

_The war. He needs Kallen as long as it continues._

I rolled my eyes and laughed bitterly.

"Right. Easy. I'll just win the war for him."

_It's a thought. But I said 'continues'. I never said anything about winning._

"What's the dif…Oh!"

_Ah. You begin to see._

I crossed my legs, tailor style, and rested my head on my hands.

"But he wants to be Emperor," I said. "What's the use of being together if he needs to keep me hidden? It'll be worse then ever."

_Fool. You claim to be enamored with the little twerp and you don't even listen to what he says._

"Huh?"

_The hinges of history, Lucy. Lelouch wants to drag this war out because he's not willing to take a step that would accelerate everything. He doesn't have the guts. _

"What step?"

_I'll give you a hint: it wraps up the war and gets him closer to the throne regardless of whether the Black Knights win or lose._

I gasped. Lelouch's unfettered joy at a beautiful plan had always perplexed me. He was happy, and that was all that mattered. Now I understood. It was like watching a skyscraper piece itself together. It was _glorious_.

"Of course…"

* * *

_Testimony of Yamada Taro_

Yeah, I deserted. And I'm proud of it, too. Oh, sure it was difficult. You people watch the barracks like hawks these days. Still, it's not like it's impossible or anything. I heard down in Kyushu that a couple Japanese police couldn't steal any weapons when they deserted, so they just blew up an ammo dump. Shit! I wish I'd thought of that myself.

_(Subject is reminded to refer to himself as an "Eleven". He is finally able to so three hours later when he regains the ability to speak)_

It's easy. _(Subject groans and rubs arm, which is broken in two places) _We figured we'd be sent against Zero's forces anyway, so we let the army transport us there before deserting. Saved us time and energy.

_(As per Britannian regulations, subject was executed for treason after a brief trial. The obligatory penalty of shooting, hanging, drawing, quartering, decapitation, burning, and feeding the ashes to dogs was commuted to shooting, hanging, drawing, quartering, and burning in recognition of a previously exemplary record)._

* * *

Five minutes till zero hour. Fog from five terrorists' breaths clouded the train car's chilly air. It was an older line, and the pine board floor vibrated with a _kschock!_ every so often. Ichiro leaned back and forth on his heels. No mean feat from his squatting position. His pudgy body squished against a crate of letters. We'd been careful to only bomb "Britannian Only" rail lines and roads during our attack on the transportation network, and the Britannians had countered by transferring their shipping to "shared" Eleven-Britannian lines. Now their mail traveled on the same creaky lines that the Elevens used.

Ichiro saw me looking at him. A thin smile spread across his scarred, fat face. Isamu was the type of human I liked: a useful fanatic who followed orders unquestioningly. He'd been a prisoner in the old days, before Britannia started executing terrorists on sight. They'd caught him trying to blow up the textile factory where he worked. The fat little man had started riots, nearly escaped three times, and broken a guard's jaw with a bedpan.

"Four minutes," C.C. said.

She passed her yellow eyes over the two remaining terrorists, meeting each operative's eyes in turn. Keiichi looked away. A young man barely out of his teens with a cowlick of hair over his forehead, he might have been the best demolition expert in the business. He'd blown up cars, planes, and telephone stations with the dedication of an artist. He shivered, probably from the cold. Chika Murasaki wrapped her arms around him. A former agricultural college student, she had a talent for crop blighting. Also Keiichi's on-again, off-again girlfriend. You can read about her in Milly's _The Woman Who Starved Japan, _although it's pretty hard to find these days.

"Three minutes," C.C. said.

I checked my watch. Nodded. Wondered how C.C. could keep track of time so precisely. The train would be slowing down by now. That's the wonderful thing about sabotage: a grain of sand here, a loose screw there, a bomb somewhere in between, and the whole thing collapses.

A rumble, a lurch, and the train ground to a stop.

_Too early!_

"Move!" I shouted.

We rushed to the door at the end of the car. The little wheels on the door made a _shlink_ as we threw it open. Any further noises were drowned out by the roar of submachine guns. Twenty seconds later, the car was empty save for five terrorists and the smell of burned powder. I looked around the room, and there it was: sixty tons of black steel and malevolence.

"Gawain," I whispered.

C.C. gave me an impatient look.

"Enough staring. Get in."

The cockpit slid open and we clambered in. I ordered our collaborators to take the rickety Glasgows around us. C.C. and I had a few things to discuss.

"You and I need to—"

Automatic cannon fire interrupted me. A line of holes the size of basketballs splattered across the wooden sides of the train car, like water dripping onto the floor from a towel. The shells pinged harmlessly off of our mammoth knightmare's armor. Ichiro wasn't so lucky.

"How do you work the controls?" I asked.

C.C. rolled her eyes and tossed me a manual. She activated the float system, and the Gawain's head punched through the roof. I flipped through the book as fast as I could.

"Hit them with the Hadron cannons!" I said.

C.C. nodded and pressed the button. An irregular jet of red light sputtered out. It torched the grass in front of us, melted the train tracks, and roasted a tree to a cinder. In fact, it hit everything but the enemy knightmares.

C.C.'s eyes narrowed.

"How irritating."

By now, we were almost out of range anyway. The Glasgows skated after us, but they couldn't take off.

"Aim for the—"

Something exploded below us. I had planned to say "train", since I didn't want our accomplices falling into enemy hands. Apparently, Chika and Keiichi had saved me the trouble. C.C. spared a bored glance at the flaming wreck.

"Farewell, young lovers, and follow your star," she said.

"Is that a quote?" I asked.

She shrugged.

"Maybe."

A silence passed.

"What's your relationship to Lelouch?" I demanded.

C.C. raised an eyebrow.

"Hmmm….Your little romance has run into trouble, hasn't it?" she said.

I glared at her with as much hatred as I could muster. It was like trying to penetrate a knightmare with a rubber ball.

"That's none of your business," I said. "Why do you stick around, anyway? You're the cause of his problems."

She fixed me with a sardonic smile.

"That's rich, Lucy dear, coming from you."

I shot out of my seat to wring her neck, but the ceiling was shorter than I'd thought. My head slammed against it and I fell back down.

"Temper, temper," she said. "Let's not forget what your little outburst did last time."

I rubbed my head.

"As soon as I recover from my headache, I'm throwing you out of the cockpit, witch."

Her amber eyes lost focus as she stared at the endless plain of clouds ahead. Her voice took on a weary, absentminded quality.

"Then I'd just crash the Gawain, blow both of us up, and wait to revivify."

I crumpled the aluminum armrests. C.C. tilted her head to one side.

"Oh, enough. And to answer your question, I'll stick by Lelouch until the very end. I have a contract with him."

I laughed bitterly.

"That's all?"

She opened her palm as if she was scattering seeds across the sky.

"That's all you'd believe," she said.

"Try me."

She sighed.

"Sure, why not? I stick by Lelouch because I intend to help him win. And besides, he's fascinating as humans go, and I'm bored."

"Interesting?" I said. "That's all he is to you, isn't it? Like some animal at the zoo. What do _you_ know about Lelouch?"

C.C. turned sharply to meet my eyes. The loss of control—if that's what it was—only lasted a fraction of a second. Then she gave me a nonchalant wave of the hand.

"I know more about the _real_ Lelouch than you do, I think. Unlike you, I'm not blinded by illusions of what I _want_ him to be."

I made a scoffing sound.

"And when did you learn that, witch?"

If the insult bothered her, she didn't show it.

"You weren't the only one taking care of him when he was blind," she said. "Much as you probably wish you were."

"Oh, so you had a little heart-to-heart about those memories we dumped on each other during the mind-meld?" I said.

Her head turned back to the window. A tiny smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.

"Something like that."

_What?!_

My hands balled into fists.

"I'll bet you _loved_ the chance to take care of him, didn't you?" I growled. "You were probably happy about the opportunity."

The smile waned until it was almost imperceptible. An odd look spread over her face.

"Perhaps…perhaps so. I'd forgotten what it was like to comfort someone…"

"You're more of a selfish bitch than Milly."

She chuckled.

"You have no idea how little your opinion matters to me," she said. "You're just one more person to file in my memory under "soon to be deceased", like everybody else who's ever loved or hated me."

"Awww," I taunted. "Is the witch lonely?"

Her eyes shifted to the cockpit floor.

"Not really," she said. "Just alone."

"And where are you going to file _Lelouch's _memory?"

C.C. stroked her cheek. She dragged the tip of her shoe back and forth across the metal ridges of the floor.

_Plinkplinkplinkplink...._

___Plinkplinkplinkplink...._

"I'm afraid that's none of _your_ business," she said at last.

"I know," I said. "How about 'spouses of people soon-to-be-deceased people who hated me'?"

C.C. hit the "recline" button on her seat and crossed her legs over the control panel.

"You wish."

"So you think he'll choose _you_?" I said. "You're no more human than I am, and you won't even answer his questions!"

She clutched that ridiculous Cheese-kun doll to her chest.

"He has ways of finding things out anyway," she said. "And you needn't worry: I learned along time ago not to have relationships with humans. Most of them are bastards, and the rest…"

She trailed off. It was the first time in a long while that she'd said something I agreed with.

Almost.

"Lelouch isn't a bastard," I said.

"Genealogically or temperamentally?" C.C. deadpanned.

"Not funny."

She shifted in her seat and huddled up more closely with Cheese-kun.

"This about a man who said that the _entire world_ is wrong?" she said. "You have a lot to learn."

"Traitor."

"Realist," she corrected. "Fanatics like you expect their idols to be perfect, and fall apart when they learn the truth. I don't have any illusions, but I follow him anyway. That makes me less dangerous to Lelouch than someone like you."

I tore my mask off and lobbed it at her. It missed by several inches. It was almost worth it to see those unchanging amber eyes widen when she flinched.

"I would _never_ hurt Lelouch!" I snapped.

Her smug expression melted into something almost threatening.

"You'd better not."

* * *

_WELCOME, RECRUIT!_

_So you've joined the Nonviolent Resistance. Good. We need you. Now for your first lesson: the Seven Rules of Nonviolent Struggle_

_1) DON'T WAIT FOR OPPORTUNITIES—Many revolutionary movements only start when the government commits a serious blunder. We can't afford to wait for a scandal or unpopular edict to do our work for us. _

_2) MEASURE TWICE, CUT ONCE—Britannia has the resources and organization. We don't…yet. So we plan our moves ahead of time. Strategic thinking is key._

_3) WIN THE PEACE—It's not enough to beat Britannia. We need to make sure that we're building a democracy. Otherwise, we might as well call it quits. There's no use beating one tyrant three thousand miles away if we end up with three thousand tyrants one mile away._

_4) DON'T BE A COCKTAIL PARTY REVOLUTIONARY—Some Japanese think that living life "according to their principles" is enough. Bullshit. The Walden Approach never helped anybody. Others think that speaking LOUDLY and EARNESTLY will SOLVE their PROBLEM. Wrong again. It just fills your speeches with capital letters. Only strategic planning, perseveringly applied, can bring down Britannia. _

_5) DON'T MISS THE FOREST FOR THE TREES—Maybe you have a really creative idea, or you're hung up on a choice between two clever tactics. Forget it. You've got limited resources and can't do everything at once. Look at your strategic goals. Does your new idea REALLY get you closer to them? How much closer? Closer than the alternatives? Why? _

_6) DON'T BE A DOOMED MORAL VICTOR—Many other resistance movements refuse to focus on wider strategy because they know in their hearts that they'll lose. Their defiance gets them five minutes of fame until the next martyr comes along. In the end, their sacrifice was for nothing. Let me say that again: THEIR SACRIFICE WAS FOR NOTHING. Don't let this be you. _

_7) LEARN YOUR TACTICS—These little guys are what you'll be using when you're face-to-face with the enemy. They come in all shapes and sizes: strikes, boycotts, rallies, and more. Choose them carefully to fit your strategy. If possible, train your people how to use them __before__ sending them into the Lion's jaws._

_----_Excerpt from a JNR pamphlet, 2018 a.t.b.


	14. Turn 14: Lelouch

**Chapter 14: Lelouch**

A pile of clay chips floated across the felt tabletop and deposited themselves in front of me. Mao giggled and clapped his hands. Lucy smiled.

"Raise," she said.

_Is she bluffing?_

Mao's hands hovered over his stack of chips while I pondered that question. Was Lucy's hand shaking when she pushed her chips in? I had no idea--her vectors were rather convenient for hiding that particular tell. She'd just checked her hole cards. Probably not a flush, then. A flush draw? Possible. But if so…

_Right, then…_

Mao gave a disgusted snort and flopped his cards onto the table. As I'd thought: the _safe_ bet. Gutless as usual.

"I heard that, you know," Mao said.

_Then you know it was intentional_, I thought back.

One of Lucy's chips lifted out of the pile and fell down with a _click_. Lifted off again. It reminded me of a basketball getting dribbled. Lucy leaned on her elbows, eyes unfocused.

"Good hand?" I asked.

"Huh? Oh…um…maybe?"

_Her mind's on something else. Maybe she doesn't have a strong hand after all. _

Mao jumped out of his chair and pointed an accusing finger at me.

"Cheater!" he shouted. "Cheater, cheater _cheater_! You waited until after I'd stuffed my cards to ask her that!"

I rolled my eyes.

_If you'd __actually__ been focusing,_ I thought, _you'd know that her inattention might be from romantic daydreaming_.

He grinned.

"Ooh!" he said. "So you think Lucy's in _love _with you?"

The bouncing chip slammed into the pile, which splashed in all directions. I looked up and sawa very, very rosy-cheeked Lucy surveying the mess through a cage of her fingers.

"I…er…Oops."

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and wondered for the hundredth time whether the hassle was even worth it. Between Lucy's embarrassment and Mao's accidental provocations—

"What makes you think it was accidental?" he said with a smile.

--and Mao's _intentional_ provocations, this wasn't going very well. To top things off, a certain apathetic, green-haired witch chose that moment to intrude. She cast an appraising eye over the wreckage.

"What's this?"

"What's this?" I echoed. "_What's this?_ Oh, nothing much. Just a game of iron nerves and superhuman cunning. The alpha and omega of strategy. The second member of the Holy Triad of chess, poker, and competitive—"

"So, poker?" she said.

My outstretched hands froze in mid-gesticulation. I rolled my eyes and slumped back into the chair.

"Yeah, fine," I said. "Poker."

"Ah."

She said it in a tone that practically screamed "I couldn't care less." Growing up in the Britannian royal family had given me an appreciation of the infinite layers of meaning that people can cram into a single sentence, with each nuance melting into the next. Until I'd met C.C., I hadn't realized that the opposite can also be true. That girl could cram less meaning into fewer words than any person I've ever known.

"So, how's it going?" she said.

I pointed across the table.

"Well, Mao reads my mind…"

He smiled and waved at C.C., who ignored him.

"…and I read Lucy's body language, which Mao interprets (or misinterprets)—"

"Hey!" Mao said.

I shrugged.

"Well, it's _true_," I said. "And anyway—"

C.C. jerked her thumb at Lucy.

"What about her?"

Lucy's eyes narrowed.

"I'm calculating the probability of—"

"Oh, I see," C.C. said. "You're counting cards."

Lucy's forehead scrunched in concentration as she tried to find a way out of that. She failed and nodded.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"I also suspect that she's using her souped-up reflexes to _literally_ count them, but I can't prove it yet," I said.

Lucy crossed her arms and turned her face away from me with an indignant little _hmph!_ It looked so much like what I'd expect to see from a _normal_ girl that I almost did a double-take.

_A sense of humor at last? _I wondered.

Mao opened his mouth.

_Before you say anything, Mao, ask yourself: do you REALLY want me to order you to jump on the table and sing "I'm a Little Teapot"? _

Mao's jaw snapped shut.

_Thought so._

C.C. raised an eyebrow.

"It doesn't look that hard," she said. "I think you're just adding silly complications where they don't belong."

"Oh? And you think _you_ could do better?" I shot back.

It probably shouldn't have, but C.C.'s breathless, bored dismissal irked me. Had _she_ just spent the last hour outsmarting a mind reader and the world's best ping pong player? I think not.

C.C. shrugged. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could swear that she smiled a little.

"I'm not going to let you goad me into a childish--"

"Stakes are sixty pizzas," I said.

"Done!"

She sprang into a chair and snatched a pile of chips before I finished my sentence. The next few minutes were a little dose of torture. Mao's chips couldn't make their way into C.C.'s pile fast enough, and I had to use all of my skill to stay above water. It didn't help that the last time C.C. showed emotion was sometime in the 1490's.

"For Pete's sake, Mao," I grumbled. "She's not going to sleep with you if you let her win, you know."

C.C. smiled sweetly and dropped a few more chips into the pot.

"Mao has the right to use his chips however he wants," she said. "_I_ think he's being very chivalrous, unlike _some_ people. Raise."

Mao beamed like a twelve year old with a crush.

"Fold," I said. "And I'll just say for the record that I'm thoroughly disgusted with these proceedings."

C.C. put a finger to her mouth.

"Isn't that your natural state anyway?" she said.

Then she winked at Mao, who spent the next couple minutes gibbering the stupidest rot I've heard since I edited Clovis's love poetry to his tutor in middle school. I buried my head in my hands.

"Hey, I have an idea," I said. "Who wants to dunk C.C. in the backyard pond and see if she floats?"

Lucy's hand shot up immediately. Mao emerged from his ecstatic trance long enough to glare at me. C.C. deigned to grace me with a bored glance.

"Considering that you can't lift anything over thirty pounds, you'd never get me out again," she said.

"No great loss there," Lucy said.

C.C. leaned on her hand and gave Lucy one of her lazy, Cheshire cat grins.

"Poor little Lucy. I think we've started off on the wrong foot. Tell you what: let's ditch the chips, switch to strip poker, and concentrate on beating Lelouch."

If Lucy's cheeks had turned pink at Mao's earlier comment, they were burning red now.

"I…um…Lelouch, would you mind? I mean…"

C.C. flicked a chip into the air and caught it on her forefinger. She tsk'ed loudly.

"Too bad I was joking," she said. "For shame, Lucy. That wasn't even a challenge."

Lucy started shaking. A chip floated in front of C.C.'s face and crumbled into powder. C.C. fussily brushed the dust off the table.

"I'm putting you all in," she announced.

"Call!" Lucy said.

Lucy's eyes took on a feral gleam as her pile of chips flowed into the middle of the table like an avalanche.

"Two pair, Aces and Jacks," she said.

C.C. shrugged.

"Too bad. Full house, tens and twos."

Lucy stood up. Her upper body seemed to hang in the air like a limp marionette. Never a good sign.

"You know something, C.C.? I've had about as much as I can take—"

"Lucy?" I said.

Her back straightened again.

"Yes, Lelouch?"

"Maybe it's just as well. You need to get some rest anyway. Big day tomorrow, remember?"

'_Worked like magic'_ doesn't even begin to describe it. Her mood swung from murderous rage to maudlin in a quarter of a second.

"You didn't forget!" she said.

I waved my hand.

"Psshh! You think I'd forget your little vector-return-party? Perish the thought."

Her eyes acquired a far-off look.

"Just you and me…" she murmured.

I stuffed my cards into my pocket and lead her out of the room, hand across her shoulder. There was _no_ way I was going to leave my cards unattended with that crew.

"Right," I said. "Now why not get some sleep?"

She gave me a determined smile. If she'd snapped off a salute, I wouldn't have been surprised.

"Right!"

She was in bed a few moments later. I closed the door until only a small crack of light remained.

"There's a good girl," I said. "Good night."

"Good night, Lelouch."

I shut the door with a gentle click and checked my watch. If my previous observations were any guide, she'd be asleep within half an hour. As it turned out, C.C. clobbered Mao on the next hand. After she raked in the rest of his chips, he toddled over to her like a puppy looking for attention.

He didn't get any.

"That was rather harsh," I observed, after Mao slunk back to his room.

C.C. quirked an eyebrow.

"Pot, meet kettle," she said.

"Yeah? Well I don't use underhanded tactics to win _poker_," I said.

Instead of replying, she leaned across the table and slid two kings out of my sleeve.

"You were saying?"

_Drat._

I gathered as much dignity as I could muster.

"Er…yes, well…At least I didn't use my feminine wiles to do it," I said.

"No comment."

I nearly choked on my wine.

"Tell me something, witch: did you get this way _after_ Geass, or were you always this irritating?"

Her eyes fell to her cards. She shuffled them back and forth, and in the lamplight their shadows looked like a dark door opening and closing.

"What you said earlier…" she said. "They did that to me, you know."

"Did what?" I asked.

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and tossed a few chips into the pot.

"Dunking," she said. "It wasn't as amusing as it sounds."

"Sorry."

C.C. shrugged.

"I wasn't asking for an apology," she said. "Just thought you might be interested, with all the history you study. It's very…different when it you see it in person."

I picked a piece of imaginary lint from my shirt.

"Yeah, well I said I was sorry anyway, and I am. Let's leave it at that."

She nodded.

"Suits me," she said. "Are you calling or folding?"

"Eh? Oh—er—hang on a minute," I said. "Calling."

Once again, the cards told in her favor. She bent across the table and gathered them up.

"What's Lucy up to?" I asked.

C.C. paused for a moment in the middle of the table. She might have frowned, but the combination of poor lighting and her limited emotional responses made it hard to tell. She looked up at me.

"How should I know?" she said. "She's your responsibility, remember?"

I took another sip of wine. It seemed more acidic than usual.

"The organization's too decentralized," I said. "Nobody knows everybody, and all of the terrorists I've met are paranoid about letting information slip."

C.C.'s eyes narrowed a fraction.

"So you don't have a database?" she asked.

"No. Lucy and I split the records into two parts. Each of us memorizes half and then burns it, mentally updating as needed. Everything else is on a local basis."

A paper sliver stuck out from the edge of one of her cards. She scratched it off with a fingernail and flicked it onto the floor.

"So you don't know half of your own organization," she said. "Who handles recruitment?"

"Recently?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Lucy," I said. "I've been busy with the Special Administrative Zone, and she's better at it anyway. Paranoid like you wouldn't believe. She's caught more spies than I used to."

"And probably more innocent people as well," she replied.

I conceded the point. C.C.'s face hardened a little, or perhaps it was just the shadows of the lamplight.

"You should kill her," she said.

I ran a finger along the ridge of my cards.

"She's probably just planning to attack the Kamakura Facility," I said. "A bit premature, but I need to destroy the place anyway. No harm done. Besides, I'm not in the habit of killing my friends _or _accomplices without a good reason."

"Rivalz and Jeremiah would argue otherwise."

I couldn't stop my sharp intake of breath, or the involuntary tightening of my chest and shoulders.

"That was low," I said.

"That's life," she retorted. "If you don't want to do what's necessary, it's _your_ funeral."

I relaxed my grip on the pile of chips. Breathed. Leaned back.

"Well, C.C.," I said, "since funerals are a luxury which _I_ can enjoy and _you_ can't, I hope you don't mind if I decide for myself when I'm going to have it."

Her arms pulled a fraction of an inch closer to her body and her hands clenched slightly. The movement was so minute and brief that I would have missed it if I hadn't known what to look for: she was trying to grab a Cheese-kun doll that wasn't there.

_Is it possible…?_

"C.C.?"

She looked up. I was reminded once again how much her yellow eyes looked like a cat's.

"What?"

"When you made your contract with me, you said that you wanted me to grant you one wish," I said. "What's it going to be?"

She looked away. Her eyes seemed to glaze over, and lost some of their feline cunning.

"You'll find out when the time comes," she said.

"As I said, I'm not in the habit of killing my friends or accomplices."

"'Without a good reason'," she amended.

I shoved my entire chip pile into the pot.

"That depends on the accomplice," I said.

C.C. looked from me to the pile and back again. She drummed her fingernails on the copy of Mallory's _History of Japan_ that I'd left on the table.

"You're bluffing."

"You think so?" I said.

"I know it."

She counted out an equal number of chips and splattered them into the pot. Bad table etiquette, but I was past caring at that point. I suddenly remembered the meeting with Clovis.

"You don't think much of me, do you?" I said.

She sighed.

"Just show me your cards so we can finish the game," she said.

"That's why you tried to run, isn't it? You thought that I was going to use Mao to get enough information from Clovis to incriminate you, and then torture the rest out of you."

"The cards, please."

To this day, I couldn't tell you exactly why the issue annoyed me as much as it did. Whatever the reason, I noticed my voice rising.

"Look here," I said. "I don't do things like that. You think I'm a ruthless, manipulative bastard? Fine. Guilty as charged. Do I thoughtlessly put my friends in harm's way sometimes? Yeah. I can't predict everything. But manipulating people close to me and torturing them are two different things."

She started to say something, but I pointed a finger at her and she stopped speaking. In retrospect, it was a miracle that she didn't just walk out of the room.

"No," I said. "You'll let me finish. Whatever you and Lucy were involved in, I'm going to figure it out. You can bank on that. But I'm not going to do it like _that_."

C.C. dragged a chip across the tabletop with her forefinger. She smirked.

"So you only torture anonymous people. Is that it?" she said.

There wasn't a clever answer to that, so I gave the honest one.

"Yeah, pretty much. I brought you there because I hoped you'd slip up on your own," I said.

She picked up one of the poker chips and looked at the Britannian Royal Seal stamped onto the top: a lion and viper entwined. Slowly, deliberately, she placed it on the tabletop and rotated it until the fangs of both animals faced me.

"I notice you didn't give me that reassurance at the time," she said.

"I said I was above torturing my accomplices, witch, not bluffing them."

"Foolish," she said. "Your enemies won't extend you the same courtesy."

"Good thing I'm smarter than my enemies, then."

She glared at me. I knew enough about C.C. to know that she'd _never_ allow something so obvious to get past her iron self-control. By her standards, that angry look was tantamount to screaming.

…Which meant that this was purely a show for my benefit. Whether it reflected her actual emotional state was, of course, another question. I'll say this, though: if it was fake, she was a very good actress.

Then again, I already knew that.

"Moral qualms will get you killed in this business," she said. "You think this is a game, Lelouch?"

The playacting was marvelous. I was almost tempted to clap.

"What are you talking about, C.C.? Of course it's a—"

"Diethardt died today from a knife wound to the neck," she said.

I struggled to hide my shock as I considered the implications of that statement. First, the obvious: I was short one _very_ good propaganda minister. But what about C.C.'s reaction? Genuine emotion or not, she was telling me to tread carefully….which meant that this wasn't a typical Britannian secret service execution. Which meant…

"Friends of yours?" I asked.

She grabbed my cards and flipped them over.

"Just as I thought," she said. "Junk hand. You sacrificed sixty pizzas for a dramatic gesture."

Clearly, I wasn't going to get anything more out of her tonight. I smiled and took the loss gracefully.

"It was worth it," I said. "Unlike _you_, we mortals like to strut and fret our hour upon the stage as loudly and theatrically as possible."

There wasn't anything to say after that, so we broke off and called it a night. I tried for the thousandth time to get my own bed back, but she defended it tenaciously and I ultimately called it quits.

Too bad, really. If I hadn't been so focused on my bed, I might have heard Lucy's door swing quietly shut.

* * *

I woke up bleary-eyed and grumbling at five o'clock the next morning. Mao seemed to take perverse pleasure in prodding me awake. I retaliated by remembering the time C.C. kissed me. Half an hour and a bowl of cereal later, I stumbled into an armored black van on its way to the Chinese embassy.

"Well, well…the gang's all here, eh?"

Euphie giggled and kissed me on both cheeks. Suzaku gave me a "hey, man!" and a pat on the shoulder. Schneizel just smiled.

In the weeks since his arrival, my brother had become a major nuisance. Bartley was commander in name only. Schneizel knew enough about politics to turn down direct command—there wasn't any honor to be had in counterinsurgency—but there was no mistaking his stamp on the new war plans.

Clovis's neighborhood organizations had already cleared out the cities. Schneizel understood their methods and applied them to the countryside. Even under Cornelia, Britannian troops had had trouble destroying my cobbled-together organization because they didn't understand counterinsurgency. Schneizel was teaching them. The Second Prince had finally pointed the steamroller that was the Britannian state in the right direction. He'd started using our superior communications network and improved terrain mapping. Lucy had countered by choosing battle sites where resupply would be difficult. She'd even wiped out half the 1st Colonial Guards in an ambush.

That was her last success. Schneizel moved into areas where the Resistance hadn't consolidated yet. Thanks to her taste for battle, Cornelia had always attacked the Black Knights directly. Schneizel focused on long-term occupation. Britannian forces deported, relocated, and policed the Resistance into the dirt. Everywhere they went, they severed the link between terrorist and civilian with the precision of a scalpel. Short on intel and forced to set up fixed supply points, guerrilla bands had become easy prey for Schneizel's Glaston Knights.

I clapped and rubbed my hands together.

"Right…so any last bits of advice before my meeting?"

Suzaku and Schneizel both started speaking at the same time. Suzaku shut up instantly and muttered "sorry" in a voice I could barely hear. Schneizel chuckled and held his palms out.

"No, no, Kururugi!" he said. "You understand this problem better than anyone. Let's hear what you have to say."

"But, your majesty—"

Schneizel gave Suzaku an unctuous smile. That was Schneizel's trademark: he'd caress you with compliments until he got what he wanted from you, then he'd drag you into deep water and drown you. He'd picked the trick up before I was born. By the time he'd reached his teens, it had become his way of talking to everyone. At the end, I don't think even _he_ knew the difference anymore.

"Tut, tut! I shan't hear of it. Even princes need to know when to stay quiet."

Suzaku looked uneasily from Schneizel to Euphie to me and back again, as if seeking inspiration.

"Um…okay. I mean, yes, Your Majesty. Lelouch…er, Prince Lelouch—"

I rolled my eyes.

"Just 'Lelouch', Suzaku. This isn't a knighting ceremony."

The proverbial elephant in the room smiled at Kururugi.

"Don't worry about me," he said with a gentle wave. "These are your friends, and you're welcome to be informal."

Suzaku nodded.

"Yes, Prince Schneizel. Okay, Lelouch: we have Zero on the ropes. We're staying in insurgent zones for the long haul these days: if we need to spend months in a sector to cut off the guerrillas' food supplies and smoke 'em out, we'll do it. Operation Bugspray just netted us eleven thousand guerrillas killed and another ten thousand prisoners in three and a half months. We've already planned a dozen more like it. And whenever we clear a sector out, we're setting up a camp on the border of the next one."

"So basically, a slow military victory is inevitable?" I said.

Suzaku gave me a businesslike nod.

"Right."

I threaded my fingers together as if I was making a cat's cradle.

"Excellent," I said. "Kururugi, old childhood pal o' mine, I think you've just won my negotiations for me."

He started to protest, but Euphie agreed and hugged him right there…Schneizel or no Schneizel. Suzaku turned an interesting shade of red.

Schneizel _ahem_'ed. Suzaku froze.

"SorryyourMajestyitwasmyfaultit'llneverhappenagainIpromiseandI'llacceptanypunishmentyou—" he stammered.

Schneizel cut him off with a raised hand. Euphie laughed and ruffled his hair.

"Don't worry, Kururugi," Schneizel said. "I'm aware of my sister's attachment to you, and I can only say that I'm glad that she picked such a noble knight."

Suzaku did his best to stifle a sigh of relief. Schneizel continued.

"What I was _going_ to say mustn't leave this car."

I perked up my ears.

"As you all know, I've spent the last few weeks looking at Clovis's records in great detail. I knew my brother well, and I never thought him capable of suicide. What I just found confirms it."

Euphie gasped. Suzaku leaned closer, his face intent. I tried to figure out what the appropriate level of shock would be, and became uncomfortably aware that Schneizel was watching me out of the corner of his eye. For the thousandth time, I cursed myself for not searching Clovis's records more thoroughly. Schneizel confirmed my worst fears.

"Clovis repeatedly mentions something called _'Geass'_…"

Even with my years of training, I couldn't completely suppress a guilty start.

"What is it?" I asked. My voice sounded a little high.

Schneizel gave me a curious look.

"From the way he describes it, it seems to be a form of mentalism or telepathy. He thought Zero had it. It shows up as a red sigil in the user's eye, which looks something like this:--"

He traced a shape in the air with his finger.

"But wouldn't that be easy to look for?" Euphie broke in.

Suzaku's mind must have been working on overdrive that day.

"Not necessarily," he said. "Maybe the guy's wearing contact lenses, or maybe it only appears when he's using it."

I stroked my chin as if I was deep in thought.

"I dunno, Suzaku," I said. "I don't think we should get wrapped up in speculation like this. Clovis was acting a little funny before he killed himself. Before we start looking for people with mind control eyes, maybe we should—"

"No," Schneizel said. "I am quite certain that Clovis was in his right mind when he wrote what he did. And I suspect that Suzaku's guesses are pretty close to the truth."

I searched Schneizel's face for something—anything—that would give me a clue what he was playing at. Nada. Just his perpetual smirk.

_How much do you know, you son of a bitch?_

The car stopped.

"Aha! We're here," he announced.

* * *

I'd never been inside the Chinese embassy before. They'd painted the walls in pale yellows, pinks, and blues that reminded me of Easter eggs. Glass screens filled with air bubbles partitioned some of the rooms. Others were stacked with jade lions, lacquer boxes, and gold-and-teak wardrobes that could have bought medical insurance for half of Hubei. As I passed, the Eunuchs ogled me shamelessly and tittered into their silk shirtsleeves. A caped figure perched on a dragon throne watched me from the end of the room. I recognized the long-haired man behind him: Le Xingke, the Loyal General. The political hatchetman for an Empress who wasn't old enough to know what a political hatchetman _was_.

"State your business, Prince of Britannia," he said.

I made a great show of turning to the man on the throne without giving Le Xingke so much as a curt nod.

"Zero, I presume?"

"Yes," my synthesized voice replied. "I am he."

I snapped my fingers at one of the Eunuchs.

"Chair, please."

Le Xingke shook his head.

"You don't give the orders around here, Prince."

I didn't break eye contact with the Eunuch. He shuffled nervously for a few seconds, then turned to the Chief Eunuch. The latter nodded, and my chair arrived a minute later. I leaned back, sighed, and crossed my legs.

"Much better," I said. "So considerate of our 'neutral' hosts to hold these talks."

The Chief Eunuch smiled and bowed. I might have known. Using sarcasm on China's political masters was like trying to stab a man made out of hot taffy: the barbs get stuck.

"Now then, Kallen, let's talk business."

'Zero' shot out of 'his' seat.

"What…? How…?"

I laughed.

"I thought so," I said. "And to answer your question, we've known for some time that Zero has body doubles. He never would have left sensitive negotiations to a low-ranked subordinate, and Ohgi and Diethard are dead. That left you and the real Zero. And your movements weren't effeminate enough to be the _real_ Zero."

Kallen pulled off the mask. It dropped to the floor with a hollow _clomp_ and rolled until it lay on its side.

"I don't know whether to be more insulted for my leader or myself," Kallen said.

I picked a strand of green hair from my shirt and twirled it between my thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, I dunno," I said. "Personally, I suspect that Zero would laugh and take it in stride."

She snorted.

"Then you don't know the guy very well," she said.

I shrugged.

"Perhaps not," I said. "Do you?"

Kallen's eyes narrowed and her shoulders tightened.

_Point._

"I know he's brave enough to fight on the front lines, unlike _some_ people," she returned.

"There's no honor in fighting when you're too stupid to understand the consequences of failure," I said.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "I'm sure you're a _real_ expert on honor."

"You'd be surprised," I said.

I raised my hand as if I was an old Roman orator rehearsing a speech.

"_Ahem…_ 'You can have no higher excellence than greatly to esteem honor. He who does so will fear no danger, nor be guilty of any unworthy deed,'" I recited.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Wow," she said. "You honestly think that's going to impress me?"

"I got a million of 'em."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"Hey, don't knock the quotes," I said. "I spent a lot of time memorizing the darn things when I was a kid."

She groaned.

"See, that's what I hate about Britannians. You people are so over-the-top _fake_ it makes me sick. You quote these pretty little maxims and then break them whenever you feel like it."

I pretend to look hurt.

"_Me_? Break my word? Kallen, I'm speechless.'

She leaned against the throne's armrest and smirked.

"Yeah? Well that was a really great party you threw last week," she said.

I dipped my head politely.

"Thanks. I don't see how that's particularly relevant, but it's nice of you to—"

She tapped her gloved hand on her cheek and looked up.

"Oooh….wait a minute," she said. "I remember _somebody_ mentioning the virtues of frugality on our first date…"

_Point._

I scowled.

"You're getting annoyingly snarky these days, Kozuki."

"I had a good teacher, vi Britannia. So tell me: Is there any explanation forthcoming, or did you make me eat on Tupperware just for the heck of it?"

I actually hadn't thought about it before that moment, but I trawled my memory for an answer. Found one.

"I'm a public figure these days," I said.

"So…?"

"So it's usually a bad idea to get a reputation for being cheap."

And there you have it: a terrorist pretending to be Zero bantering with a Britannian prince who actually _is_ Zero, and pretends to be her boyfriend when _she_ pretends to be a student. Or something like that. Perhaps I should draw a diagram.

In any event, we'd dispensed with the pleasantries and were ready to get down to the meat of the negotiations. She motioned toward a small room that Britannian Intelligence had certified as surveillance-free. We walked in together to avoid an embarrassing back-and-forth exchange of 'after you's'.

The doors shut behind us.

"So I was right after all," I said.

Kallen looked over her shoulder at me. Something about the pose struck me as interesting. I took another look. Even with a jade lion statue blocking part of my view, I had to admit that she looked quite good in my Zero costume. It fit her (mostly) slender body incredibly well.

C.C. would probably find it significant that I was attracted to a girl dressed as, well, me. I concede the point.

"Right about what?" she asked.

I ran my hand along the lion's back and walked around it until we stood face to face.

"In the end, you and Zero sold out your own people to the Chinese," I said.

She swung her palm at my left cheek. I leaned backwards. Jeremiah would have chewed me out if he saw it: when you lean away from a looping blow, you only pull yourself into its path. Or in this case, Kallen's nails. I got a scratched cheek for my troubles.

"I see," I said. "Violence. How typical for the Black Knights."

"As a Britannian, you have no room to talk," she said.

I rubbed my cheek. It didn't sting anymore, but I wanted to gauge her reaction. She had the self-control not to say anything, but she couldn't hide a brief look of concern.

_Good. That makes it easier._

"Yet I'm the one who's advocating the peaceful solution," I said.

"Peaceful surrender, you mean."

_Time to shine, playactor…_

I whirled around with my arms outstretched, Zero-style.

"You're wrong, Kallen!" I said. "You stick with terrorism because you think that violence works? Fine! You tell me, then: what's its success rate? How many countries have fallen to terrorists?"

"That isn't—"

"Your leader's name says it all: Zero. Zilch. None."

Okay, maybe that was a _little_ over the top. It got Kallen's attention, though.

"I believe in nonviolent struggle because it works better than the alternatives," I said. "If I thought violence worked better, I'd use it without hesitation. If _you_ believe that your leader can win with violence, fine. Go for it. But if not…"

I let the sentence hang in the air, to give her time to think of her own "if not's".

"…then you're killing your people needlessly," I finished.

"The Nonviolent Resistance doesn't even have leaders!" she shouted. "They're just a bunch of disorganized peaceniks with no plan."

I leaned back against the statue and kicked a pillar.

"You talk of plans?" I said. "All right, Kozuki. What's _your_ plan?"

She laughed humorlessly.

"You think I'm stupid enough to answer that?" she said.

I shook a finger at her.

"Ha!" I said. "Yes! Precisely! If I asked a Japanese nonviolent resister about his plans, he'd tell me in a heartbeat. They don't rely on lies like the Black Knights."

"Then they're stupid."

I paced around her. Insert whatever "tiger circling his prey" metaphor you like.

"Wrong again, Kozuki. Their methods aren't secret because they rely on mass collaboration, not a couple anointed leaders. Everybody knows what's expected of him. And unlike _you_ people, they know the government will figure their plans out anyway. If the Britannians know what they're planning, they'll restrain their own violence. Everybody's happy."

"Yeah? I didn't see much restraint during Cornelia's massacre last week," she said. "And just what did you mean by 'you people'?"

I dismissed her point with a wave of my hand.

"Cornelia's a bloodthirsty fool. She's doing her cause more harm than good. How do you think I mustered enough support among the nobility to create the Special Administrative Zone in the first place?"

"They got mowed down without fighting!" she yelled.

I wrung my hair in my hands.

"They were _trained_ to do that! That's the entire point!"

"And how are they supposed to sustain themselves in the middle of all of these boycotts? You're expecting the sky to rain food, maybe?" she said, her voice dripping with contempt.

"Interesting point, Kallen. Tell me, though…how are they supposed to sustain themselves in a WAR?!"

"We'll police them like we're doing in the liberated territories," she said.

Her voice didn't carry the same conviction this time. So…I'd found another dent in her armor.

"Yeah, wonderful job," I said. "Zero's new dictatorship. You should be proud."

"You can't make an omelet without breaking…"

Her voice trailed off. I don't know what pleased me more: that she was losing the debate, or the fact that she wasn't ruthless enough to finish that sentence. Unlike yours truly, of course.

My leather shoes had already worn a circular dent in the pink rug around Kallen. I moved a step closer and got to work on a new one.

"Let's talk basics, Kozuki. The Nonviolence Movement has neighborhood organizations to sustain local needs during boycotts. They've got support from the EU. They've got the unions. They've got Kyoto. They've got an underground training network, complete with audiocassettes and their own printing industry. Medical assistance for protesters when they're attacked (and by the way, I pay some of their medical bills). Marshals in their protests to prevent Britannian _agents provocateurs_ from inciting a riot. They've even hijacked some of Clovis's civic organizations and turned them into protest groups. And you've got what? A couple guys with guns and a Chinese stoolie for a leader."

"That's enough," she whispered.

"Oh, no, Kallen. That's just the beginning. The EU wanted to recognize the Special Administrative Zone's sovereign nation status again, but your lunatic-in-chief's just as brutal as the government and the deal fell through."

Yet another piece of news I'd held back for maximum effect. Her eyes widened.

"You just want to use the Japanese people to piggy-back yourself into power!" she shot back.

I rolled my eyes.

"And you don't trust me when I get there?" I said. "Because really, I'm a _lot_ better than your alternative of getting trashed by Cornelia."

So there it was: a naked threat. Both of us knew that it had enough bite to end negotiations right there. Kallen stepped back, her face like stone. I laughed softly.

"Besides," I said, "you never know what'll happen when I'm in power. You could always double-cross me and ask for more concessions later on. Events HAVE been known to get out of my control…"

"If you're admitting that to me, it's probably a lie," she said.

I smiled.

"You're making assumptions about my goals that might not be accurate," I said.

Kallen sighed and stretched her hand behind her, feeling around for the couch. She sat down the moment her hand touched the armrest. Her body slouched, and she propped her boots on a lacquer table that probably cost more than she'd make in her lifetime.

_Phew…_

I needed a breather myself, so I sat down beside her. Whoever designed the cushions knew what he was doing. They wrapped around my arms and back like a soft hug.

"All things considered, I'm glad I had to deal with you rather than Zero," I said.

She stared ahead. Blinked.

"That's because you can run circles around me," she said.

I raised an eyebrow.

"You think Zero would entrust you with something _this_ important if he thought you couldn't handle it?" I said.

"I…well…"

She exhaled. Her shoulders and neck sagged a little more.

"I don't know _what_ Zero's doing anymore," she said.

_That_ was an opening too obvious to miss. I fished around in my breast pocket.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"I…here, wait a minute. Aha! Here we are."

I pulled out a crumpled silver bag and rested it on the gap between our cushions.

"Cookie?" I offered.

She eyed the package suspiciously.

"Okay, Kallen: you got me," I said. "It's actually a bomb that I cleverly disguised in a cookie wrapper."

She picked it up and turned it over in her hand. The plastic crinkled.

"You're trying to manipulate me," she said. "And besides, I'm dieting."

"I won't tell Atkins if you don't," I said. "And it's much easier to out-negotiate me on a full stomach."

She tore open the bag in excruciatingly slow motion.

"Fine," she said. "One bite."

I leaned back and crossed my feet on the table—next to hers, but far enough away that she couldn't call me on it.

"Does this thing have a recliner button?" I asked.

"It's from the nineteenth century," she said.

"Ah. So that's a no."

"You got it, genius."

We passed a minute in silence. For someone as loud as Kallen usually was when she slipped into Terrorist Mode, she ate rather quietly.

"Lelouch?"

_And here it comes…_

"Yes, Kallen?"

"Look: I'm just a soldier, okay? All this stuff about Zero and Britannia and the Black Knights and China is way over my head. I just want the Japanese people free and happy."

I looked at her and rubbed my chin, as if something had suddenly occurred to me.

"These past few weeks…you've been leading the Black Knights yourself, haven't you?" I said.

She nodded.

"Zero's missing most of the time. I went to the Chinese because they had weapons and I didn't know what else to do."

Her tone was becoming increasingly frantic. As I'd expected, the weeks of command had been too much for her. Unlike me, a lot of people have a problem with sending their closest friends off to die. Kallen more than most.

"We're _not_ just a bunch of Chinese pawns, Lelouch! We're really not. I just don't—"

"—know how to get the Japanese people out of this intact," I finished.

Her eyes dropped to the floor.

"Yeah…"

I repositioned my upper foot. The shoe squeaked on the tabletop.

"You're in the wrong business if you're looking for honesty, Kallen."

I'd expected her to jerk her head up and give me one of her patented glares. Wrong again. She kept staring at the floor, and all I got was a weary sigh.

"Don't screw with me, Lelouch. Please. I know you could, but don't. I'm just trying to help my people here. I know you care about them—us—a little bit…or at least you care about me…I think…"

She groaned and let her hands fall. They bounced off the cushions once, and then stayed still.

"Never mind," she said. "It's pointless, isn't it?"

I scratched the cloth armrest with each finger in turn. They made little _swoosh_ sounds that I found rather soothing.

"Your goal of a free Japan…what's it worth to you?" I asked.

"Everything. Anything."

"And if it meant standing aside while protesters got shot?" I said.

"As long as I could get back into my knightmare if your methods didn't work," she said.

"No dice," I said. "We stick to one approach or the other. Compromising our tactics would only weaken us."

"We'd better choose correctly, then," she said.

"Indeed. So here's the question, Kallen: Whose _judgment_ do you trust more? Mine or Zero's?"

She rubbed her forehead and rolled away from me.

"I don't _know_. Give me _something_ to go on, Lelouch."

I considered ticking points off on my fingers like I had earlier, and rejected it. This needed a personal touch. Instead, I mirrored her tired pose and injected my voice with a hint of exhaustion. Actually, at that moment I could have jumped up and danced.

"All right, Kallen. I'll pass the word along to switch from street demonstrations to stay-at-home strikes. It's a lot harder to shoot them that way. We'll work slowly, one step at a time. In the early stages, we'll focus on economic issues, since those should be easy to clear up once the changeover's complete."

I put a hand on her shoulder. She tensed again.

"Calm down," I said. "This is just one friend to another. I was _going_ to say that Zero's movement hasn't been wasted after all. You've given the Japanese people a lot of nerve. They never would have stood up to Britannia in the first place if it wasn't for you."

She turned over so that she was facing me again.

"You really think so?" she asked.

I nodded.

"What do you want me to do?" she said.

"I want Zero on board for this," I said. "I'm asking for a ceasefire. Tomorrow afternoon, Euphie and I are going to announce the opening of the Special Administrative Zone. I'm inviting him to the event."

"You're _what?_"

"I want to sign the peace treaty right there," I said. "If Zero throws his support behind the project, it'd be a political coup big enough to oust Cornelia and put me at the helm."

Her suspicious look returned.

"You're not going to—"

"Heck no! Double-crossing Zero and capturing him on national television would destroy my image in a heartbeat."

Kallen stood up again. She seemed a little shaky on her feet, though.

"Okay, Lelouch. I'll talk to Zero and see what I can—What's wrong?!"

Waves of agony shot through my head. A red blur filled half of my vision. I was vaguely aware that I was flopping on the floor, clutching my eye socket. Somewhere far away, I heard Kallen gasp.

"Your eye! There's something in your eye!"

_Oh no…_

Of course. My _left_ eye was blurred. My _left_ socket was throbbing.

Geass.

The wave of pain retreated. Fortunately, I'd already exposed Kallen to Geass. I uncovered my eye and hoped there wasn't a post-haywire-reactivation rule that I didn't know about.

"Please tell me what you see," I said.

Her voice tingled with equal parts fear and confusion. Also some concern. Happy discovery, that.

"Your eye's all black, with a weird red symbol in the middle. Lelouch, please tell me what's going on…"

I thrust my hand out.

"Later," I said. "I'll tell you everything later. Right now, all you need to know is that this would _seriously_ jeopardize negotiations if my brother found out."

"You mean Schneizel?"

"Yeah. He's waiting in the car with Suzaku."

She sucked in a breath.

"Shit."

I nodded.

"You said it."

"What are you going to do?" she said. "If you don't come out in the next ten minutes, the Britannians'll break in with their security forces."

"Give me a minute to _think_!" I snapped.

She stiffened—not with fear or annoyance, but with the aura of alert efficiency I'd always prized her for in combat.

"Right," she said.

I was wrong: it only took me thirty seconds.

"I think I've got it," I said.

A pause followed. Even in an emergency, I couldn't resist the dramatic buildup.

"What?" she said.

"Kallen, I have a question for you. Let's say—hypothetically speaking, of course—that I complimented you on your wonderful pair of breasts. What would your response be?"

For a second, she just stared at me open-mouthed and blushed furiously. Then she figured out what I was planning. A nasty grin spread across her face.

_The things I do for terrorism…_

_

* * *

  
_

I emerged from the embassy two minutes later. Suzaku was the first to notice.

"What the…? Those _bastards_! What did they do to your eye?"

I touched the swollen skin gingerly.

"Nothing," I muttered.

"Bullshit 'nothing'," Suzaku growled. He almost ripped off the door handle as he tried to get out of the car.

"Who did it, Lelouch? Whoever it was, I'm going to beat the shit out of—"

I mumbled something.

"Huh?" he said. "_Who_ did you say did it?"

I threw up my hands.

"It was a _girl_, okay? I flirted with her a little…indelicately and she clobbered me. Happy?"

Euphie cracked a smile.

"You're joking, right?"

"Does it _look_ funny to you?" I said.

She started to answer. I held up a warning finger.

"Say 'yes' and I'll have you assassinated," I said.

She didn't stop laughing until we got back to the palace.

* * *

_Kamakura. 9 P.M._

Like most public facilities, Kamakura's employees worked a nine-to-five shift, and departed like clockwork when their time was up. I didn't blame them. The prospect of being left alone in those too-clean white enamel hallways after the lights went out gave me the chills as well.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what I was doing.

I raised a flashlight. Papers fluttered across the beam like white butterflies.

"Found anything yet?" I asked.

Nana shook her head.

"Not yet. What does Papa want us to find, exactly?"

"He's…um…not quite sure," I said. "Look for anything about Lucy, or anything that mentions Clovis or Lloyd Asplund."

Nana's vectors threw papers in all directions like a snow flurry. Her ability to read was only a week old, and she was already better than most of my secretaries. Papers leaped out of their files and back again at astonishing speeds.

"Nana, have you ever considered a career in office and administrative support?"

She looked up from her paperwork with those wide, doe-like eyes of hers.

"What?"

"Never mind."

The flutter of papers continued. One of them stopped and hovered in front of my face.

"Prince Lelouch, is this what he's looking for?"

I read the first line and snatched it from the air.

"Brilliant work, Nana."

* * *

_MEMORANDUM_

_TO: Director Kakuzawa_

_FROM: ---_

_DATE: ----_

_SUBJ: Lucy and Human Enhancement Project_

_Insofar as the Britannian Royal Family has shouldered the entirety of Kamakura's outstanding debts (to wit: $453,385,592,290.05) following the JSDF's cancellation of funding thanks to, quote-unquote, "dubious practices", it is incumbent upon your office to provide the results originally promised. The Kamakura Facility will provide Diclonius #1—a.k.a. "Lucy"—to Britannian authorities by [date blanked out]. Britannian doctors will certify on delivery that subject is fertile and capable of creating viable stock with L. vi B. _

_Following clearance, subject is to be introduced under controlled conditions to future mate. Prep subject as per earlier instructions. _

_All Hail Britannia!_

_

* * *

  
_

"Hmmm…."

The paper whirlwind stopped.

"Is…is something wrong, Prince Lelouch?"

I chuckled.

"I just discovered a future mistress I never knew I had."

She gave me a confused look, but peered down and continued rifling through papers rather than prying further. I memorized the paper and put it back in the file, then ran my flashlight along the wall while I waited for the next discovery.

"Nana?"

"Yes, Prince Lelouch?"

I really shouldn't have asked, but morbid curiosity got the better of me.

"Why do you still love Kurama after he tortures you like that?" I said.

She narrowed her eyes. Her jaw stiffened, and she balled her fists defensively.

"Because he's my Papa," she said.

_Tread with caution…_

"Ah, I see. Just wondered."

She seemed to relax. Her frown transformed into a sickeningly cute smile.

"No problem, Prince Lelouch!"

I note that particular exchange only because it's one of the few times in my life that I've felt genuinely guilty about something. Guilt isn't an emotion that we Royals experience very often, and in this case it didn't make much sense, either. After all, I wasn't the one who stuck her in a living nightmare for fourteen years and twisted her psyche until she loved me for it. And yeah, admittedly I _was_ exploiting her through that connection, but I'd done my bit and tried to snap her out of it.

Nevertheless…

I turned away from Nana and swung the flashlight around the room. I stopped the beam at a giant cork board, complete with a hardwood frame. Dozens of pictures stuck to it with push pins: severed Diclonius heads, live vivisections, and what I could only assume were poison gas experiments. A poster hung a short distance to the left of the board. It was a diagram of a Diclonius with her arms and legs stretched out in a star pattern. Somebody had drawn dotted lines along sections of her arms and legs, like choice cuts of meat on a cow. I didn't bother looking into it further, so I couldn't tell you what it was except to say that I was profoundly creeped out by it. Then the wall opened its eyes.

"Gah!"

I jumped back and looked again. The red eyes were gone. Nana looked at me curiously.

"What's wrong, Prince Lelouch?"

"I thought…I thought I saw a Diclonius," I said.

She put a finger to her mouth.

"Ohhh….you saw a Researcher," she said.

"Pardon?"

"I call them that because they watch me just like the people who work for Papa," she said. "They only come out at night, so only I get to see them. Cool, huh?"

The flashlight's yellow circle was still vibrating, for obvious reasons. I took a deep breath and promised myself a rational explanation when I had more time.

I never got one, incidentally.

"Er…yeah. Cool, Nana. Did you find anything else?"

She gave me a disappointed little sigh.

"Not much. Just something about an antidote," she said.

I raced over and made a "gimme" signal with my hand. She didn't understand, so I grabbed the paper and pulled into one of the empty cubicles.

* * *

_MEMORANDUM_

_TO: Director Kakuzawa_

_FROM: ---_

_DATE: ----_

_SUBJ: Antidote_

_The Britannian state does not recommend further development of the Acute Hereditary Diclonism-Induced Aggression Genetic Therapy (AHDIAGT) project at this time. Even with its vectors still attached, subject would be less likely to perform its main function if alter-ego eliminated._

_

* * *

  
_

I read the note three times just to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

Item one: Lucy's aggression was treatable without eliminating her vectors. I made a mental note to get Rakshata working on it immediately.

Item two: Someone had deliberately sent Lucy to meet my family untreated.

Footfalls in the hallway. I crept to the door and cocked my pistol. My eye was still swollen shut from Kallen's right cross, but I could always pry it open if needs be. I looked around the corner. A slender figure watched me from the end of the hall. Its head was large enough that it must have been a child.

"Good evening," I said.

A red orb lit up in front of his face.

_Geass?!_

The next thing I remember was lying on the ground with a bloody nose, cut lip, and ribs that felt like I'd slept under a mambo line. I opened my eye. A brown haired boy lay sprawled against the far wall, his face twisted into a look of surprise. The boy's right arm hung from the ceiling fan a few feet away, still clutching a dagger.

Nana stood over him, shaking. Tears gleamed in her eyes.

"I didn't have a choice…"

She repeated it over and over again, like a mantra. I pushed myself to my feet and shook her until the noise stopped. Her lips still moved with the words. I locked her eyes in mine.

"Nana: look at me. What happened here?"

She pointed weakly at the broken thing lying by the cabinet.

"H—he knocked you down and put a knife at your throat. I didn't want to _kill_ him!" she moaned.

_Hmm…_

"Of course you didn't, Nana," I said. "You're a good girl. That's why Papa likes you so much. Now then, did I black out or something?"

Nana shook her head. She was clearly trying very hard not to look at the body.

"No. You just froze. It was like time stopped."

"And you didn't?" I asked.

She shuddered.

"No. He…looked surprised about that."

"I see."

Something glittered in his left hand. I leaned over and picked it up, taking care to interpose myself between Nana and the body.

_Impossible…_

I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Nunnally's number as quickly as my shaking fingers allowed.

"Hello?"

"Nunnally!" I shouted.

"Umm….yeah. Are you okay, Lelouch?"

"I…I'm fine. Where _are_ you?"

Her tone became slightly suspicious.

"I'm at Ashford. Don't tell me you've become paranoid and want to move me to solitary confinement again. It's bad enough with half the Glaston knights and seven hundred secret service—"

"Okay, Nunners. Bye!"

"But—"

I snapped the phone shut and breathed a sigh of relief. Nunnally was safe…for now. Somehow, though, the assassin lying on the tiles in front of me had stolen her locket. Which meant that someone was trying to send me a warning.

But who?

* * *

Traffic was murderous that evening. I didn't get home until eleven. As I approached the house, off-key strains of "Lilium" filled the woods around me. It didn't take me long to find the singer. I pushed a branch aside and saw Lucy hunched over our kitchen table, outlined against a white wall. She hadn't even bothered to put the drapes down.

_Oh, crap…_

I raced through the door and barreled into the kitchen (well, as much as any gangly 130 pound teenager can "barrel"). Lucy's head shot up from the table. She looked genuinely surprised, which meant that something was _seriously_ impairing her reflexes. I sniffed the air to make sure.

"Lucy, please don't tell me you drank the—"

"Sssoma wine?" she slurred.

"Yeah…"

She hiccupped and giggled.

"Nope! Nossirrrrreeee….Ssireee. No soma wine! Nope."

"I'm really sorry, Lucy. I didn't mean to miss our date. Really. It's just—"

"s'just Kallen, innit?" she said. "Always Kallen. Never Lucy. Never poor liddle Loooosssssy."

She grabbed for the bottle. Missed. Tried again. Missed.

"Er…Lucy? Just how much did you drink?"

She closed one eye and pinched her fingers together in front of her face.

"Not mush. Justa leeeeeetle bit. A coupla bottles. Thass all."

I rubbed my temples. This was going to be a long night.

"Lelouch duzzint like Lucy, though," she mumbled. "Not even a leetle bit. She isn't like tha _other_ girls, nope, not like 'em with their long blond hair an' good dresses an' all. They don' like _her_ either. Wouldn't talk to a freak. But Looloo says he does. Thass what Shirley callzim. Hmm…."

She stumbled off the stool and nearly careened into the counter. I moved closer in case I needed to catch her.

"Lucy, I _really_ don't think walking is a good idea right now…"

"Walk?" she said. "Ha! I can _f-f-f-l-y-y-y!_"

To illustrate her point, she stretched out her arms and dropped forward. Instead of breaking the fall, her vectors upended the table, tore off the refrigerator door, and pulled down my entire dish rack. Dozens of my best porcelain dishes exploded across the floor.

Oh, and she fell on me too.

"See? Thass not so bad…"

"For _you_ maybe."

Yeah, yeah, I know: How could I _possibly_ complain about a beautiful girl lying on top of me? The answer, dear readers, is twofold. First, I'll note that I'm not the most robust guy in the world. When you have a metabolism like mine, exercise usually goes by the wayside. Unfortunately, skin and bones don't protect organs from falling psychotic girls very well. Second, I was a prince of Britannia. If I wanted to, I could get more girls than all of you put together.

…Not that I'm bragging. And if it's any consolation, my dating options these days are _much_ more limited than in my youth. (Yeah, go ahead and gloat. Bastards.)

"Lucy, I'd _really_ appreciate it if you could move…"

She glomped onto my neck in what she must have thought was a caress.

"Aw. Poor Looloo. Sssso sssorry. Are you hurt?"

"Er…no. Now if you'll please get off…"

"Wanna kiss?"

"No, Lucy, I don't want to…."

"Call me Nyuu. Nyuu, Nyuu-dy, Nyuu-dy, Nyuu…"

_Oh, good grief…_

"Thass the name I wanted at the _orphanage_. I waz gonna run away and become Nyuu and marry somebody _really_ nice. Like you!"

She snuggled against my cheek. I tried to slide out from under her, but she clung like a leech. I noted absently that her cheek was still sticky. She'd been crying.

And then, a lightbulb went off.

"Say, um…Lucy?"

"Nyuu!"

"Fine, then. Nyuu?"

She giggled again.

"Sounds like a _kitty_-cat sound," she mumbled. "Hmm…..ssssay…..My horns look a little like kitty ears. You like cats, don'tcha Lulu?"

I wondered for a moment whether I'd stumbled into another world—perhaps one that _wasn't_ purpose-built to screw me over. I rejected the possibility immediately. There was no way I'd be that lucky.

"Um, right," I said. "Anyway…I heard you're planning an operation pretty soon."

She drew in quick breath.

"Oooh! I can't tell you about _that_. Itsa surprise!"

I smiled at her and twirled a lock of her hair.

"Oh, come now, Lucy. I'm sure you can give me a _little_ hint, can't you?"

She flicked her lip with her finger.

"Tha _other_ Lucy'd get pretty angry…"

I held out my hands and nearly shouted, "Never mind!" In Lucy's less-than-lucid state, I didn't want to take any steps that would entice her demonic alter-ego to the surface.

Besides, if her alter-ego _was_ involved, the answer was obvious. I'd been right—and wrong. Lucy was going after the Facility, but she wasn't going to destroy it. She was going to _liberate_ it. I did a quick calculation and figured that she'd need at least three more weeks to prepare. Plenty of time to deal with the problem.

"Lucy, would you mind getting off me now?"

I noticed gentle snoring. It took me a minute or two, but I finally managed to disentangle myself and carry her upstairs. On the way up, I gave thanks to the Reality Gods that nobody had stumbled in on us when she was draped over me. Over the years, I've learned to cherish the rare moments when my life doesn't work like a soap opera. Once in a while, things go my way.

Yeah…I should have remembered what Dad used to say: it's at times when everything's working out that you need to be most afraid.


	15. Turn 15: Lelouch

**Chapter 15: Lelouch**

"That's it, you little bastard," I whispered. "C'mon…that's right…closer_…closer…_"

The squirrel paused and stared at me. I met its beady eyes with an intense hatred born of months of refilling the bird feeder. I'd dubbed it Mud One to distinguish it from its partner-in-crime, Mud Two, who preferred to dig up our seedlings instead. Mud One chittered angrily and shook its paws at me. Then, turning its bushy tail in a final gesture of defiance, it scampered off into the woods. A low growl escaped my throat.

_Curses_.

"Hey, Lelouch!"

"GAK!"

I fell backwards into the dirt. As soon as I saw the source of the noise, I held my palm out in a "don't move" gesture. Suzaku ducked under a branch and regarded me with equal parts perplexity and amusement. Kallen just looked perplexed.

"Whatcha doin', Lelouch?"

I reiterated my gesture.

"Not another inch, Kururugi. I have the whole place mined."

Suzaku let go of the branch. It took all of Kallen's hair-trigger timing to avoid getting a faceful of leaves. Her companion didn't seem to notice.

"Mined?" he said. "You mean…like _MINED_ mined?"

I nodded.

"Technically, they're modified M-80s, so you'd probably only lose a toe or two, max…"

Kallen put her hands on her hips and glared at me. I noticed that she was very careful not to move forward, though.

"Maybe this isn't the best time to be asking this, but just _why_ did you mine the Ashford garden?"

Still holding my hand out, I stood up and tried to remember where I'd planted the explosives.

"Squirrels," I said solemnly.

Kallen and Suzaku's eyebrows shot up as if they were synchronized. As if to emphasize my point, a loud _bang_ erupted somewhere to our right, followed by panicked squeaks. I grinned.

_Gotcha, you little—_

Kallen sighed.

"Wow," she said. "Just…wow. Every time I start thinking you _might_ be OK, you pull shit like this."

I gave her a dismissive wave.

"Clearly, you lack the ruthlessness to be a good gardener," I said.

She rolled her eyes.

"You know what?" she said. "I'm not even going to bother responding to that. Just tell us how to get past your mini demilitarized zone."

Fortunately, I'd retrieved my mental map by then. The next few minutes resembled a particularly dangerous game of _Twister_. As soon as Kallen hopped over the last mine, she marched up to me with murder in her eyes. If it wasn't for my timely head-nod toward Suzaku and the fact that she had to maintain her sickly façade, I'd probably be writing this autobiography without the benefit of thumbs.

All's well that ends well, as they say.

"Let me guess…you had a pet rat as a kid," I said.

"Gerbil," she said. "It died when I fed it a piece of birthday cake."

"That's actually pretty funny."

Kallen smiled sweetly and pointed to something in the underbrush. As soon as Suzaku turned to look, she nailed me in the ribs.

"Remind me never to tell you about my kitten experiments," I muttered.

Despite the throbbing pain in my ribs (and the subsequent welt on my arm from the kitten comment), the Ashford garden was remarkably peaceful that evening. The woods were silent except for the occasional warble of an imported nightingale. Even the leaves gave nary a rustle; the air was too still for that. Suzaku sat down next to me. After a short pause, Kallen relented and knelt on my other side. She turned her head toward Suzaku, then raised her forearm and shot him a defensive look.

"What are you staring at?"

He pointed at her legs (eyes properly averted, naturally).

"You're getting kinda dirty, kneeling like that," he said.

She brushed off a few clumps of dirt and pointed at Suzaku's soiled knees.

"Look who's talking," she said.

He chuckled and leaned back to take some of the weight off his pants. Too late.

"Well spotted," he said.

I dug a trowel into the ground and watched my breath as it formed little clouds in the air. The blade barely penetrated. Kallen shivered.

"Cold?" I said.

She shook her head. I ignored it and wrapped my windbreaker around her shoulders, wondering why Milly's dress code insisted that girls wear short skirts year-round. Maybe she _wanted_ to encourage chivalrous gestures. Or maybe she just liked short skirts. I never asked. Another squirrel exploded in the distance.

"So what brings you two here?" I asked.

Suzaku looked like a deer in the headlights for a moment. That gave me all the answer I needed.

"Well," he said, "I wanted to talk about…well, something…um…"

"Military-related," I finished.

"Yeah."

So that's why Kallen followed him. Or maybe she'd been planning to knife him again. Either way, I could give her what she wanted without leaving Suzaku on the forest floor choking on a punctured lung. I turned to Kallen and squeezed as much sternness into my voice as I could.

"What you're about to hear is classified," I said. "You're not to repeat it to anyone. Understood?"

She turned away. Suzaku probably thought it was just shyness. I knew better: she was hiding a triumphant smile.

"Understood, Lelouch."

I nodded to Suzaku.

"Go on," I said.

He cleared his throat, then stooped forward and dug moist lines in the dirt. A stunningly accurate map of Japan took shape.

"Wow," I said. "Score one for remedial art classes."

Suzaku punched me on the arm. Thanks to a combination of my computer hacking skills and the fact that I had too much time on my hands, I'd filled up half his semester with classes like "Drawing the Feline Form" and "Oedipal Aesthetics: Father-Son Conflicts and the Dynamics of Guilt in Britannian Painting". By the time he discovered the mix-up, it was too late. Milly refused to change his schedule, citing "hilarity" as the main reason.

"All right, Lelouch, here's the situation…"

Kallen bent closer as innocuously as she could--which, considering her limited stealth abilities, wasn't very much. I knelt beside Suzaku to keep his attention on the map.

"Guerrilla forces are using Kyushu as a base," he said. "We have our own guerrilla movement in Kyushu, but Bartley's ignoring them."

"He's an idiot," I said.

He nodded.

"Yeah. Their morale's gonna collapse pretty soon if we don't start resupplying them. And that's only the beginning of our problems. As long as the government-in-exile holds Kyushu, they can import weapons directly from the Chinese, while our supplies have to come from halfway across the Pacific. That's where you come in, Lelouch."

I looked up. Suzaku was fixated on the map as if he was trying to stare it down. (I'm half convinced that he could have pulled it off, too).

"What do you need _me_ for?" I asked.

"I wanted to know if there was any chance of negotiating," he said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kallen's gaze snap back to me. I crushed her hopes immediately.

"No chance," I said. "The Eunuchs aren't interested in liberating Japan. They just want to prolong the war."

"Why?" both of them asked at once. Suzaku shot a suspicious glance at Kallen, who pretended to be embarrassed.

"Because right now, Dad's negotiating a marriage between Tianzi and Odysseus eu Britannia," I said. "If the Eunuchs hold onto Kyushu, they have the perfect bargaining chip to extract a better price… without directly challenging Britannia. Clever, eh?"

Suzaku scowled. His leather gloves squeaked as he curled them into fists.

"They're using humanitarian aid as an excuse to keep the Kyushu government resupplied," he said. "The slimy bastards are hiding behind the Japanese people _and_ the EU's human rights conventions."

"Isn't Cornelia's spy network tipping you off to some of the shipments?" Kallen asked.

Suzaku's upper body immediately straightened.

"Where did you hear about—"

"It was on the news last week," I said quickly. "Remember when they seized the _Dahan_?"

Suzaku smiled apologetically.

"Oh…right. Sorry, Kallen. I wasn't accusing you of anything."

Kallen gulped. I tapped my finger on the map.

"What about closing off the mountain passes?" I asked.

"We're trying that," he said. "Cornelia set up a fortified perimeter. Here, I'll show you…"

Suzaku dabbed his finger into the dirt and twisted it, excavating a tiny hole. He repeated the process six more times until a little line of dots appeared. I shook my head and _hmmm'ed._

"No dice," I said. "They'll just slip by. The problem with barriers is that they're too defensive; the guerrillas'll have time to analyze it and find a weakness. And they don't prevent Kyushu's troops from massing for an attack, either."

Suzaku scratched the back of his head and looked at the map again.

"Looks pretty secure to me," he said.

"Have they attacked you yet?"

"Once or twice," he said. "We beat 'em off easily enough."

I bent over the map and twiddled my fingers in the indentations as if I was playing a flute.

"They're pinning your forces down and trying to lull you into a false sense of security," I said. "Once they have a good idea how you operate, they'll start setting up ambushes."

Suzaku punched the ground a couple feet to Japan's left. He pointed at the dent.

"_There's_ the problem," he said. "If it wasn't for China, we would have bled Kyushu dry and cracked through their defenses weeks ago. Those Eunuchs…I'm telling you, Lelouch, you have _no_ idea how much those people piss me off. We show them freaking _satellite images_ of their weapon shipment facilities in China, and you know what they did? They just smiled and said that they were really sorry that our equipment's malfunctioning. That midget-Eunuch of theirs even had the nerve to offer us Chinese satellites at fifty percent off."

I patted my friend on the back. Suzaku scowled.

"I think I'll destroy those facilities myself," he said.

I stopped patting.

"Suzaku, that would be a _really_ bad idea…"

He turned and looked at me.

"Why? Everybody knows what the Chinese are up to, so it's not as if—"

"It would be a declaration of war," I said. "This isn't a hundred years ago, when we could flatten anybody we wanted."

"But—"

"But nothing," I said. "An army can't slip past borders like a bunch of guerrillas. As soon as they figured out what was happening, it would make Kyushu look like a birthday party. Picture _thousands_ of Gang Lous pouring into Japan."

Suzaku stroked his chin, suddenly pensive. Never a good sign, incidentally.

"Maybe if we infiltrated a single knightmare frame…"

"Don't even think it," I said. "Some of them would slip through your fingers, and then you'd have a war on your hands."

"Air raid?"

"Impossible. They'd claim massive civilian casualties. Probably wouldn't work, either: it's not very accurate at night, and in the daytime you'd only get a single sortie before they figured out what was happening and camouflaged everything."

He rested his hands on his knees.

"Then what?" he said.

"Patience, Kururugi. They're counting on Britannia's unwillingness to continue the war. After tonight's press conference, Zero will be out of the way and you can focus everything on hammering Kyushu. Then the Chinese supplies'll drop off and we'll be back to fighting against terrorists with worn-out submachine guns."

"I almost wish they'd stick to regular warfare," he said.

I snorted.

"You and your code of honor."

Suzaku stood up and folded his arms across his chest.

"I really don't appreciate that, Lelouch."

I lay down, resting my hands on the back of my head.

"You know, Suzaku, I had relatives at Agincourt. Ever heard of it? It's an old, old battle from before the days when the Britannian royal family skipped town and went to America. France versus England. The French knights expected the English to meet 'em mano-a-mano."

"Did they?" he asked.

"Not exactly. A bunch of English peasants with longbows shot the French down before they could get to close range. Insurgency's sorta like that: it's a new kind of warfare that needs a different mindset. If you can't handle it…"

Suzaku looked me directly in the eyes.

"I can handle it," he said. "I just don't like it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some security arrangements to take care of for your meeting with Zero tonight."

He bowed to both of us and turned to the woods. He must have been more worried about tonight than I thought.

"Er, Suzaku?"

"Yeah?"

"Landmines."

"Oh…right."

I pointed toward an older forest path that looped around half of Ashford before it curved back to the main complex. He broke into a run. Every so often, his feet kicked up little wads of wet turf.

"So…" I said.

At first, Kallen didn't reply.

"Did you get what you were looking for?" I asked.

Instead of answering, she crossed her legs and tilted her head up at me.

"You said you had relatives at Agincourt," she said. "What side were they on? The chivalrous guys, or the angry peasants?"

"Both, actually."

I sat down next to her. The wind picked up again, blowing thin, misty raindrops into our faces. She pulled her jacket a little closer.

"Lelouch?"

"Mmm?"

"You said you'd explain what I saw in the Chinese embassy yesterday."

My left eye suddenly felt dry. Just in case Kallen was on the lookout for tells, I avoided rubbing it.

"Can't it wait until after the ceremony?" I asked. "It's kind of a long story."

She sat back slowly. After a long pause, she nodded. Before I could thank her, she held up a finger to my face.

"But not a minute more," she said.

An even longer pause followed.

"I've been thinking…" I said at last.

"Go on."

"It's kinda stupid, actually."

Kallen cracked a smile.

"So I get to be the smart one for once?" she said. "Oh, I wouldn't miss _THIS_ for the world."

I crossed my hands behind my back, then uncrossed them again when I realized how silly it looked when I was sitting down.

"When Napoleon II died, the EU guillotined the whole royal line to make sure that they'd never come back. But here's the funny thing: a bunch of people kept statues of them in their living rooms. Marble busts, that kind of thing. Like little household gods."

"I…see," she said.

But she didn't, of course. I ran my fingers through my hair.

"Will anybody will keep a statue of me when I'm gone?" I asked.

Kallen averted her eyes.

"I'm sure somebody will," she said. "And anyway, aren't you a little young to be thinking like that?"

I didn't answer. The silence must have made her uncomfortable, since she stood up and gave me one of the phoniest laughs I'd ever heard.

"I just thought of something: what if Nunnally became Empress? If there's _any_ Britannian I wouldn't mind ruling Japan, she's it."

A vision coagulated from somewhere in my subconscious: a thin, pale woman of forty, her brown hair already graying. She stood on the checkered floor of an empty throne room. Its black-and-white squares looked for all the world like the boardgame she'd always hated. I could actually _see_ her conscience: a wizened, ragged thing that sank its claws into her shoulders. The teenage girl had long since grown up, sacrificed on the altar of peace. I wondered how many of her wrinkles came from execution warrants she'd signed for the greater good.

_Never, _I thought. _I'll die first._

I slapped my hands on my knees and stood up.

"Eh, you never know," I said. "You're right, though; it _is_ a little morbid. Tell you what: I'll walk you back to Ashford."

* * *

Butterflies built miniature Tesla coils in my stomach. I checked my watch for the tenth time in as many minutes and told myself that Lucy arrive on time. Suzaku stood next to me, dressed to the nines in his blue-and-yellow cape, complete with a gold neck clasp. Odysseus stood a small distance away, a flash of white and gold in the middle of the Glaston Knights' red satin and silver. From the looks of it, the entire regiment had been invited. Euphie's dress looked almost pedestrian in the cavalcade of frills and precious metals. Didn't matter. She outshone all of us put together.

Something heavy fell across my shoulders.

"Gino, get off me," I said.

The oaf interpreted my order as "please wrap your arms around my neck". He obeyed instantly.

"Kururugi?"

Suzaku jolted to attention, probably more from nervousness than formality.

"Yes, Lelouch?"

"I hereby authorize you to shoot Gino Weinberg. Now."

Gino ruffled my hair.

"Aw, don't listen to him, Suzaku. Lulu and I go waaaay back. He's a feisty little guy, but he means well."

Suzaku laughed nervously and held out a hand. Gino leaned over my shoulder and shook it.

"I wasn't joking," I said.

Euphemia sashayed between us and took my arm before things got any weirder. Before I realized what was happening, she'd stuffed us like a pair of sardines into the closet across the hall. Euphie's dress seemed to expand to fill the space. I fought to keep my head above gauze-level.

"Thanks," I said.

She smiled and leaned against the opposite wall, stretching her arms against it so that the wrists pointed toward me. Then she laughed.

"I figured I owed you one, after you saved me from Nina the other day."

The air seemed a bit stale. I considered reaching for the door, but an image of Gino waiting to glomp me changed my mind. I scratched the bridge of my nose.

"Yeah…Nina can be a little…"

"…enthusiastic," Euphie finished.

So even dear, sweet little Euphie found Nina a little creepy.

That was the thing about Euphie: she could always put things so delicately. I think it was at that moment when I first realized that her constant cheerfulness wasn't from naïve idiocy, but a conscious effort of will. Of course, that isn't the _only_ reason I remember that moment.

Before I had a chance to respond, Euphie drew me close and gave me a passionate, full-mouthed kiss. I must have stood there speechless for a minute or two, although I was vaguely aware of her arms curling around my head and waist. At last, it ended. She stroked my cheek as she drew back.

"What the…ahem…I…er?" I asked.

She tilted her head to one side and gave me a whimsical smile.

"Forgive me, Lelouch. Just a bachelorette's last taste of freedom before getting married."

She giggled and pushed my slack jaw back into its normal position.

"…You _were_ the first man I ever loved, after all."

I regained full consciousness shortly after she left the closet. I can only tell you that because I distinctly remember my first thought:

_Suzaku's going to kill me._

Thankfully, the ceremony began before anyone could ask awkward questions. One by one, we filtered out of the door and into the velvet-furnished seats waiting for us onstage. I did my best to avoid eye contact with Suzaku. My chair creaked as I drew circles in the air with my leg. Euphie glided to the podium.

Hundred of expectant faces watched her from the crowd—Japanese, Britannian, and even a few Numbers from our other territories. The walls were festooned with green-and-gold Ashford banners. For reasons I've never entirely understood, Euphie had decided to hold the event at my high school. Milly had gone all out, and it showed.

"People of Japan," Euphie said. "Today is a historic moment in the history of our two peoples…"

The double doors at the far end of the hall screeched open and a masked figure stepped lightly across the carpet. A whisper ran through the crowd…then a murmur…then a dull roar. Euphie beamed.

"Zero!" she said breathlessly. "You came after all! This is wonderful…"

Zero bowed and walked up to the stage.

"Milady," my electronic voice said. "So glad to meet you at last."

Euphie did something unprecedented in the annals of Britannian royalty: she held out her hand and offered to pull Zero onstage. Gasps erupted from the crowd. Behind me, I heard Bartley in the early stages of a heart attack.

Then Euphie's head twisted off.

I was close enough to hear the bones and tendons snap. Her head spun in the air like an obscene pinwheel, still fixed with her guileless smile. Guinevere screamed. I looked back just in time to see the heads of the entire Britannian contingent fly off in a shower of blood, like a line of champagne bottles blowing their tops. Odysseus, Karine, Guinevere, Bartley, Darlton, and most of the Glaston knights died in less time than it took to write about it.

Cornelia and Suzaku stood on the sidelines, rigid as manikins. They must have been outside the vectors' range, which meant…

"Get out!" I screamed. "Everybody out!"

By now, the surviving Glaston knights were firing their pistols. Something caught the bullets in midair and threw them back. The gunfire stopped instantly. Eight bodies fell to the ground, perforated like Swiss cheese. Zero calmly stalked toward Cornelia.

I realized that I was lying on the ground, shaking.

_Get a grip, Lelouch…_

My eyes roved across the stage, searching for anybody left alive.

"Guilford, GET CORNELIA OUT!" I yelled

Guilford nodded and pushed Cornelia toward the exit. She teetered and fell backward. Two seconds later, Zero's vectors punched a hole the size of a bowling ball through Guilford's torso.

_Wrong…Wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG!_

Even as I shivered and watched my world collapse around me, I realized that I'd made a serious mistake. Kamakura had never been the target. Lucy wanted to take out the Britannian Royal Family. All of them. And I'd been too arrogant, too sure of my own conclusions, to put the clues together in time. Worse, the stupid bitch had failed. Schneizel wasn't here, which meant that she'd just guaranteed that he would come out of the woodwork.

Gasoline bombs exploded in front of the exit. I saw a woman on fire, rolling around and screaming. The crowd shrieked and pushed toward the windows like panicked rats. Too late. This wasn't an attack by common criminals. Perhaps a dozen people were still in their seats. I recognized some of them: Kento Sugiyama, who I'd once ordered to make a pizza for C.C…Yoshida and Inoue, who'd handled our logistical support….Yoshitaka Minami. The flames reflected from his glasses.

…And Tamaki. The stupid one.

"Fire!" he shouted.

Bullets tore into the crowd. Britannian and Japanese civilians alike drew slick lines of blood across the walls as they sagged to the floor. Coroners told me later that some of them had been killed by their own people, trampled to death in the rush to escape. I watched the upper crust of Britanno-Japanese society writhe and die.

Something tugged at my elbow.

"Lelouch, snap out of it! You need to get out of here _NOW_."

I turned, bemused. Suzaku stood there, clutching my arm.

"I need to fix this…" I mumbled.

He pulled me toward the exit.

"No _time_!" he yelled.

I shrugged him off and tried to block out the screams a few yards away.

"Suzaku, listen to me: you and Gino need to get into your knightmares. I'm taking care of this on my own."

"Lelouch, you're not yourself! Listen to me--"

I pushed him away and started running toward Zero. Suzaku yanked my collar, hard. I crashed into the wall. Hopefully, Lucy hadn't seen it. An enormous black fist punched through the wall, showering us with dust.

"Suzaku, GET OUT!" I yelled.

"You first!"

I slapped him across the face.

"You stupid_, WORTHLESS _Eleven! I _order_ you to get—"

I couldn't tell which hand he hit me with. Whichever one it was, my jaw ached for days afterward.

* * *

"Lelouch?"

His voice echoed strangely, like one of those dream sequences in a movie.

"Ugh…"

I opened my eyes. Suzaku stood over me. He looked as if he'd jumped into a fireplace and rolled around for half an hour. Concrete dust clung to his curly hair like a cluster of nits, and his once-white suit was blackened from ash. Four red streaks ran parallel across his cheek.

Had I done that to him? No; wrong cheek. Someone must have clawed at him trying to escape. I rubbed my head.

"I just had a nightmare," I said.

Then the impossible happened: Suzaku sniffled and winked a drop of water out of his eye. When he spoke again, his voice rang hollow.

"Zero betrayed us."

I sat up and put an arm on his shoulder.

_Oh, well done, playactor! _I thought bitterly. Then I reminded myself that this might be the most important performance of my life. It didn't make me feel any better.

"Where's—"

I winced at the sudden pain in my jaw. Suzaku must have said something that amounted to an apology, because I remember saying that it didn't matter, that I hadn't meant what I said, and all the other bullshit. I guess he bought it.

"Where's Cornelia?" I asked.

She'd locked herself in Euphie's room for the last six hours, apparently.

"And Zero?"

Escaped in a van after setting off a smoke bomb. Clever girl. She must have been doing reconnaissance at Ashford for weeks.

"And Zero's followers?"

Dead. Decapitated. Lucy had killed two birds with one stone: she'd wiped out most of the Britannian Royal Family and purged the upper echelons of the Black Knights at the same time. All for dear little Lelouch. In a final perverse touch, they'd all burned their fingerprints off with acid. We didn't even _use_ fingerprinting anymore…and Lucy knew it.

I pushed the covers away with a light _swish_ and realized that I was still in my jacket.

"Suzaku, about the honor issue…"

Suzaku held out his hand. His voice cracked when he spoke.

"Give me a list of people who need to die, and I'll do it."

I pushed myself to my feet. My legs wobbled, but I managed it.

"Right, then. Since Euphie's knighthood is no longer valid—"

The pained expression in my friend's face was almost too much to bear. I moved on quickly.

"—I'm going to knight you myself. Under the circumstances, an informal ceremony will have to do."

I tapped both of his shoulders. It was like touching a warm statue.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

"That depends," I said. "How many terrorists escaped?"

"We're not sure. At least twenty."

"Did they have a mobile hospital with them? It would have been van-sized or bigger."

He shook his head.

"Good," I said.

I jumped out of bed and shuffled through my desk until I found the phone directory.

"Find all of the hospitals and blood banks and get your soldiers there immediately," I said. "Zero's people will either be checked in under false names or they'll rely on threats. Even if they're gone, the hospitals might still have their bloody mattresses."

"I'll make the call immediately," Suzaku said.

He turned to leave. I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back around.

"I'm not finished," I said. "Zero used a lot of people. Some of them might be amateurs who'll brag about it. Tell our agents to keep their ears open."

"Lelouch, I need to get moving…"

My grip on his arm tightened. I became increasingly aware that I was babbling.

"Zero's supposed to provide a pivot for the rural attack. Big failure there. Thinks elections are a farce…buncha puppets. Stupid again. It would've worked. Our government's going to look less culpable for violence from now on…_carte blanche_ for Cornelia's massacres…military can't strike 'em directly…Cornelia'll squash the Special Administrative Zone like a bug…Zero's not bombing industries anymore…again, stupid…just attacked somebody the Japanese don't resent…would've stopped the Rebellion right there…Zero just had a massive propaganda loss…"

Suzaku grabbed my wrist and shook me until I stopped talking. He waited until I met his eyes.

"We'll get him, Lelouch. I promise you that."

I nodded and sank back into the bed. A few seconds later, the door clicked shut. I was alone.

The events of the last few hours suddenly hit me. Half my family dead. I never liked them much, but still…

…_Euphie_…

The first girl I'd ever loved, dead. And she'd died smiling. That cheerful, childlike faith that everything would be all right…

I wept that night. Not one or two half-strangled whimpers, but a long cry that lasted for close to an hour. That only happened to me two other times: once when Shirley died, and once when Kallen did.

Aye, well…such is life, I guess.

After I was finished, I called Kallen. She must have heard what happened on the news, since she ignored security protocols and practically screamed that she had nothing to do with it. I tried to hint that somebody might be listening, but she kept talking. Ultimately, I ordered her point-blank to shut up.

"Kallen, meet me at Clovisland in half an hour," I said. "I need to tell you something about Zero."


	16. Turn 16: Lucy

**Chapter 16: Lucy**

**

* * *

  
**

_From the files of Lelouch vi Britannia:_

_**THE BRITANNIAN DAILY HERALD**_

_AREA ELEVEN ON THE BRINK_

_Even as the deplorable teachings of the so-called "peace movement" spread to our own sunny shores, Area Eleven teeters on the edge of anarchy. Following the death of Princess Euphemia in the S.A.Z. massacre, palace insiders have described Viceroy Cornelia's policies toward the native population as "severe", "brutal", and, in the words of one informant who declined to give his name, "a series of actions bordering on attempted genocide". On the heels of her cancellation of the Special Administrative Zone, Cornelia announced yesterday that she intended to bring Duke Andreas of Baader and Duchess Gudrun to Area Eleven. The husband-wife team is best known for their controversial role in the London Massacre last year._

_Prince Lelouch minced no words in his public address this afternoon._

"_Duke Baader is a lunatic," he said. "A zealot's zealot. If he'd been born in slightly different circumstances, he'd probably be a terrorist himself. The man has no place in Britannian government, and I'm deeply disturbed by Cornelia's decision to invite him here."_

_Even as Viceroy Cornelia tightens her grip, the Japanese Peace Movement continues to gain followers. Last Thursday, thousands joined hands in the Meiji Shrine to protest the Viceroy's decision to cut the Shinjuku Ghetto's water supply. The government's threat to dynamite the building nearly triggered another nationwide strike, and authorities were forced to step down._

_When asked how he intended to deal with the Peace Movement in a press conference, Duke Baader was thoughtful:_

"_We're seeing a very clever strategy," he said. "Very clever indeed. Different groups—religious, labor, and so on—are launching different protests at different times. What's the effect? The government is under constant strain, while each group is allowed to rest before launching another protest. Each of these institutions is outside of State control, and most are illegal. Clearly, we need to reevaluate our thinking."_

_HUNGER STRIKERS STRICKEN_

_The week hasn't been **all **sunshine and roses for the craven scum in the Peace Movement. Two days ago, authorities apprehended a group of eight monks who decided to hold a fast in front of the Viceregal Palace to protest the conscription laws. In the first act of what Viceregal media consultants describe as their new "extra crispy policy", Britannian citizens will be able to watch the perpetrators burned alive on BritTube at 9:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time._

_A few voices condemn the media extravaganza. Japanese bureaucrats have become strangely slow in discharging their duties recently. Prince Lelouch described the spectacle as "degrading" and "disgusting". _

_The HERALD Says: "Lighten up, Lulu! It's all in good fun!"_

_

* * *

  
_

Odysseus: Dead

Carine: Dead

Guinevere: Dead

Euphemia: Dead

Four confirmed kills. Not bad for a single night's work. Counting Clovis brought the total up to five. That left Cornelia and Schneizel. Once they were gone, Lelouch would be a single decapitation away from the throne…and me.

Lucy vi Britannia. Visions of our future together floated through my head; I reveled in the lifetime of passion and tender lovemaking that awaited us. Lelouch…and me.

I giggled despite myself. _A lifetime with Lelouch! _It was something I wouldn't have dared to dreamabout in Kamakura. Enough to make a girl weak in the knees…

"Zero, sir?"

Ichiro's voice. The brave one; the only member of my staff who had the guts to catch my attention when I was daydreaming. The others usually fidgeted and carried on as if nothing was happening.

I looked up. The small lamp in the corner of the tent flickered. Its dim orange light cast pits and shadows on Ichiro's face. On all of their faces. Their sunken cheeks stood as an indictment of the Rebellion and Britannia alike: weeks of half-starvation for a cause only a fanatic would believe was still winnable. Then again, that's what they all were.

I heard an intake of breath from Hikari. Her stringy shoulders tensed even as Ichiro spoke. Zero's Rottweiler, they called her; a former Japanese literature student turned revolutionary. She had more loyalty than sense and more sense than sentiment; a combination which suited me just fine. The purple bags around her eyes framed her glare, and Ichiro looked away. Rain drummed on the canvas roof above us.

_Good girl, Hikari._

"Continue," I said.

Ichiro nodded and turned from me to the map without taking his eyes from the floor. He touched it with a stick. The laminated surface gave a little _tworp_ too soft for human ears to detect as it bent under the tap. The young man cleared his throat. The temptation was too much for his burning lungs--a few coughs turned into a stream of phlegmy hacks. Hikari sneered. She'd caught influenza twice already.

"Ichiro…_continue_," I said.

Ichiro wheezed twice and stopped. His face reddened, and tears formed in his eyes as he tried to ignore the stinging. When he spoke, his voice sounded wet and gravelly.

"Intelligence reports indicate that Britannia will be going after Narita next," he said. "It's a large population center, and they're tired of chasing a couple guerrillas around hoping to bump into them."

Old news; I tapped my middle finger on the table.

"Good," I said.

Hikari's wide mouth curled into a grin. I noticed small spaces between her teeth. A hand rose on my left.

"Why good, sir?" Katsu said.

I tossed a copy of the _Britannian Daily Herald_ on the table.

"See for yourself," I said. "Editorials, page 5."

Katsu chewed on a yellowed fingernail.

"Zero…Sir…you explicitly ordered us to unlearn English as part of the National Rejuvenation Campaign. Perhaps it would be better if you read it…"

Hikari hissed and leaned forward until she was a few inches from Katsu's face.

"Then _relearn_ it, idiot! When Zero says you should do something, you _do_ it!"

Katsu bobbed his head nervously and grabbed the paper. His hands scrabbled through the pages until he'd reached the editorials section.

"Let's see…um….intellectuals protesting the war…talking heads say Cornelia needs a victory…is that it, Sir?"

"_Is_ that it?" I echoed.

He looked around the room at his fellows. They looked away whenever he tried to meet their eyes.

"The _answer_, Katsu," I said, "is yes. Cornelia needs a victory to prove to Daddy that she's not a worn-out shell. I need one to bring life back into the Rebellion. Here at Narita, she'll meet me on my own ground, and I'll crush her."

I crossed my arms and waited for applause. Scattered claps followed.

"Louder," I said.

They obeyed. I let them bang their hands together for a few minutes like wind-up monkeys. Would Narita be different than other cities? We'd built good cadres in the countryside, but the rest didn't care about the rebellion one way or another.

We'd tried bribery. Anyone who joined us would get posts in the New Order, with life-or-death power over civilians. Lelouch had told me once that Japan used to be like Britannia: a warlord's paradise ruled by a God-Emperor. I'd been toying with an idea for a while: organize humans into castes, enslave the weak to the strong, and the horned vi Britannia empresses of the future would only have to deal with the leaders.

And yet…

Something wasn't working. Some had joined, but you can always find a few angry people. Most refused. What did the people of Narita _want_? What does _any_ human want?

It was so _frustrating_.

"Michi, give them our plan for Narita," I said.

The tiny woman shot up from her chair and bowed deeply. She swaggered to the map like someone twice her size, proud that I'd entrusted her with preliminary intelligence two weeks before. When she spoke, her voice reminded me of a rat squeaking.

"We'll start with the mountainous areas before we move to the city," she said. "Once we cut off communication with the countryside, we can terrorize Narita into surrender. Each maquis zone around Narita will shelter approximately five hundred individuals. Fifty teams per territory, with a bare minimum of ten. After we move into 'em, the Britannians won't be able to kick us out."

I opened the floor up for questions: a necessary evil, but still an evil. I always hated it when humans questioned my judgment. Getting Michi to present the plan killed two birds with one stone. The humans tripped over themselves trying to prove her wrong for the sake of my attention, and I didn't need to worry about being contradicted.

They hammered Michi as hard as they could; especially Hikari. Katsu wondered if any minorities could be goaded into fighting. No; Narita was closed to migrant labor. Who would lead the teams? Local people, Michi replied. They already had connections in the community.

Hikari jumped up and yelled that she'd _never_ take orders from novices. Michi calmly returned that the Black Knights would train them beforehand. No good; Ichiro and Daichi shouted her down. I stepped in and proposed a compromise: trainers from the Black Knights would lead the teams they'd trained until they could operate on their own. Nine heads bowed at my wisdom. Michi gave me a grateful smile. I grinned and waved the wolves in again.

They bit, hard. What percentage of combat personnel to intelligence operators was she planning? Two to one. How long would the campaign last? Three months.

Three months?! The room dissolved into an uproar. I raised my hand and everyone fell silent. Three months was fine. Everyone agreed. Then the questioning began again. Would teams be independent? Yes, they would. How would command and control be organized? A commander for each zone who'd report directly to Zero. Who would decide on zone boundaries?

Here, Michi gave a disgusted snort.

"Zero, obviously."

They all bowed in my direction.

When should operations begin? As soon as the commanders were ready. When was a zone considered secure? When it has over a thousand guerrillas and three thousand collaborators. After that, the police couldn't touch them.

"Unless the police have knightmares," Ichiro said.

Michi narrowed her eyes. A helicopter thrummed through the air above us, laden with new recruits and maquis commanders eager to make their reports.

"That's very unlikely," Michi said.

Hikari must have sensed weakness. She jumped in immediately.

"We don't _know_ that, Michi! Arrogant people like you are the reason we got kicked out of Tokyo."

Michi wrapped her arms around her chest and looked to me imploringly. Pathetic. I stabbed my finger at her.

"Ichiro's right," I said. "Change the plan."

Michi's shoulders slumped. Ichiro beamed, and a resentful grimace spread over Hikari's face. Puppets. Repulsive, greedy puppets.

Katsu swished through Michi's pile of papers.

"Something to add?" I asked.

He bowed deeply.

"I…er…sorry for the noise, Zero. Yes. I had a question about the weaponry she wanted to use."

Michi's hunched body turned toward Katsu. She reminded me of an anxious weasel.

"Yes, Katsu?"

If she'd hoped her meek tone would buy her mercy, she was mistaken. Katsu drew a red circle around the offending passage. His marker squeaked, and I inhaled the thin smell of gasoline it left in the air. Katsu pushed the paper across the table.

"There," he said. "That's your problem. Two hundred Gang Lous, three hundred Chinese-made recoilless rifles, fifty Chinese aircraft, Chinese electric generators for interrogations, Chinese assault rifles for infantry, Chinese—"

"What's your point? That's what's available, Katsu! How do you expect me to—"

"Enough," I said. "In this case, Michi's right…"

Michi sighed in relief. I ignored her and continued.

"…We don't have anything else, and I'm past caring about revealing our Chinese connection. They refused to give me control over Japanese government-in-exile forces, so screw them."

The night wind whistled through a flap in the tent. A girl trudged through the opening, dribbling mud on the carpet as grainy drops of water fell from her limp bangs. Michi flinched as she passed. The rest were content to fix her with sullen glances. All except for Hikari, who snarled. With a sigh, the girl half-sat, half-crashed into the seat across from me.

"So _glad_ you could join us," I said. "Timely as always."

Kallen stared ahead as if she hadn't heard me. I felt my vectors coil in anticipation. Her neck looked so soft and weak…

She shook her head, as if clearing it.

"Huh? Oh, yeah…sorry. What did I miss?"

_Useless!_ I raged._ Traitor! Why does Lelouch keep her around?_

_You __know__ why,_ a voice taunted. I closed my eyes and begged it to shut up.

"We're extending our control over Narita," I said. "We've already started attacking the police."

Kallen shifted in her seat and tilted her head to one side.

"How, exactly?" she said.

_Huh?_

Hikari laughed harshly.

"What do you mean 'how'?" she demanded.

"Just that," Kallen said. "How are you 'extending control' over Narita?"

Hikari rolled her eyes.

"You _would_ ask that, wouldn't you, Kozuki? D'you want me to spell it out for you?"

Kallen slapped her palms on the table and pulled herself forward until she was breathing into Hikari's face.

"Yeah, Hikari…I'd really appreciate it if you _explained_ it to me."

A few seconds of silence passed. I fantasized about tearing the worthless girl in half. Kallen's face was impassive. Hikari's twisted and twitched.

"Hikari," I said.

She snapped to attention.

"Explain it to _pilot_ Kozuki." I squeezed as much scorn into the word as I could.

Hikari's face smoothed as if someone had flipped a switch.

"Okay, Kozuki. I'll play. 'Extend control' means killing or intimidating anyone our administration considers…ahem…troublesome." She smiled sweetly. "Is that clear enough for you, _pilot_ Kozuki?"

Kallen didn't budge a millimeter.

"I get the idea," she said. "And what happens when we get Narita, huh? More of the same?"

Hikari looked puzzled.

"Uh…yeah?"

Kallen opened her mouth, but I rose and slammed my hand on the desk before she could speak. Hikari would have plenty of time to execute Kallen for treason later. Right now, I needed my best pilot intact. And that meant keeping her away from Zero's witchfinder-general.

_Ahhh…delicious irony_, a voice taunted.

_I'm doing it for Lelouch…I'm doing it for Lelouch…_

"Enough," I said. "_Pilot_ Kozuki was referring to combat operations, and the answer to her question is this: after Narita falls, we'll take twenty thousand men and flood into the next region. It'll be easier when we don't need to build up, and our men can interdict the roads to prevent reinforcements. We'll make Narita our base for reconquering Japan. The camps we build here will train the first drops of the flood that'll engulf Japan and leave it pure again."

"But…"

Kallen's objection was drowned out by rhythmic clapping.

_And this, Kallen, is called __winning__._

Maybe, I thought, _just_ maybe, I'd keep her alive after Lelouch became Emperor. A slave for Japan's new nobility. A kitchen maid, perhaps…

…No. That would just tempt Lelouch. Even the purest love can't take too many chances.

"Good evening, gentlemen."

All eyes became fixed to the tent's door. Hikari gasped. I summoned my vectors, turned around…

…and saw the most wonderful sight in the world.

"L-Lelouch?"

Kallen must have brought him in her Guren. My heart turned a somersault. The newly-christened Second Prince stood at the door in a wet trenchcoat and an equally wet mop of hair. The coat seemed oddly out of place on his slender body, like a blanket on a scarecrow. His shoes oozed mud. Even his trademark smirk wavered as he shivered. And for all that…

_You're staring. Concentrate!_

"An unexpected pleasure, Prince Lelouch," I said.

He smiled at my Zero impression. It _was_ much better, and I was glad that the mask hid my blush. He held out his hand. I grasped it firmly—perhaps too firmly, since one of the spikes on his ring nicked my palm. I turned to my aides.

"Leave us," I said.

"But—"

"_Now_, Hikari."

Zero's Rottweiler slunk out of the room like a beaten puppy. Lelouch slid into a chair and kicked his feet onto the table.

"Let's talk," he said.

I nodded.

_Please say you understand…_

_Please say you understand…_

_Please say…_

…_Say you love me_

A mad vision flashed before my eyes: Lelouch declared his undying love for me, took me in his arms, and begged me to kill Kallen and run away with him. Just two civilians, away from war and politics. I obliged instantly. Especially the part about Kallen.

The vision faded. Lelouch pulled a pen from his pocket and clicked the point in and out.

"Last week, twenty Britannian students were arrested on the mainland for wearing T-shirts with Oliver Cromwell's face spray-painted onto them," he said. "You can see the political significance: the man who murdered a Britannian king. And not just any king: King _Charles_. The same group placed flowers in town squares across the country."

Kallen's eyes widened. Mine did too, but nobody could see them.

"Last week, BNN ran a story about royal stock market speculation," he said. "Two days ago, the Opposition walked out of Parliament. Yesterday, a student named Alberic Crinshaw was arrested for protesting against the eugenic breeding laws. Ten thousand students in seven Pendragon universities boycotted classes that morning. Forty of them were shot. And thirty five—"

He looked at his watch.

"—Scratch that. Thirty-_six_ minutes ago, most of the city of Pendragon had a moment of silence to honor their sacrifice. When Britannian soldiers were ordered to gun them down, they fired over their heads. Care to guess why?"

Kallen's lip curled into a snarl.

"Because Britannians only care when the government kills their own people," she said.

Lelouch jabbed his finger into the air.

"Precisely!" he said. "And they're not just _any_ Britannians, either. Most of 'em were nobles—the same people who control the army. That's why Dad hasn't cracked down with courts-martial."

Britannia was unstable?

That changed everything. Even I knew that much. But _how_? What did he want me to do? If only he'd _tell_ me…

…But I had a role to play, and so did he.

"Interesting," I said. "But how does this concern me? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not in the peaceful resistance business."

Lelouch's eyes wandered to the far wall. The pen snapped open and closed in a flurry of machine-gun clicks.

"I noticed," he said.

I tried to read his expression, but it seemed to swim in and out of focus. I leaned forward to get a closer look. My elbows buckled, and I fell face-first across the table. I mentally screamed for my vectors to emerge, but they seemed frozen.

_Betrayed!_ A voice shrieked. _The ring! He jabbed you with that ring!_

_No…it can't be…_

A hazy black figure approached me and loosened my mask. I heard a gasp.

"You see?" Lelouch's voice said. "Just as I suspected. 'Zero' is one of those creatures from Kamakura. She's been using you to free her sisters."

"But…"

Kallen's voice wavered, and I could hear tears in it. Oh, yes—I knew the sound. Unbidden, a moan escaped my throat.

I flopped off the table and grasped at the black shape. My numb fingers caught something that was probably a pant leg, but they couldn't hold on.

"But…but Lelouch….I thought that's what you wanted…."

A muddy shoe kicked my hand away.

"Clever bitch, isn't she?" he said. "Like I said, Diclonii have a natural instinct for finding plausible-sounding lies."

_No… Please, not this…._

_You FOOL!_ the voice shouted. _Stupid, stupid girl!_

_That's me…_

I tried to look up at him one last time. All I saw were three black shapes with a flash of purple where the eyes must have been. My tube-bound alter ego tugged at my elbow. She blurred in and out of focus, but that hateful eye stayed clear and sharp

_Call for help._ _Let THEM kill the bastard._

I shook my head and tried to keep my eyes on Lelouch. The vision dimmed.

"Kallen…about our deal?" he said.

The voices sounded as if they were underwater now.

"I'll do it," Kallen whispered.

_KILL HIM!_ _ Isn't it obvious, you little moron? He KNOWS you're loyal to him! He's COUNTING on it! Don't you see? He's manipulating you. He was ALWAYS manipulating you!_

"I'll never betray him," I said.

Even my own voice sounded like it was coming from far away. My head slumped forward onto the ground. I must have slammed into it hard, but I didn't feel a thing.

"About…time," I murmured.

Everything went black.


	17. Turn 17: Lelouch

**Chapter 17: Lelouch**

**

* * *

  
**

"_Light him up," Cornelia says_.

_Andreas flips the switch. Our prisoner shrieks, and I can see his muscles pulse and ripple under his skin. This is just a small shock; at seven milliamperes, it's well below the maximum perception thrseshold. Not that our prisoner can find comfort in that fact. The edges of Duchess Gudrun's mouth twitch upward._

_Cornelia nods, and the switch creaks to the left again._ _The newly minted First Princess of the Empire wrenches the man's chin until he faces her. She smiles._

"_As you can see, we learned a few tricks in Tokyo," she says. "Now talk."_

_He moans, but he doesn't speak. Cornelia kneads her glove with her fingers._

"_Your other five districts have already collapsed," she says. "You're finished. Do you understand, scum? You're __finished__. Narita's the end of the line."_

_He stays silent. Cornelia looks to Duke Andreas. The prisoner blubbers, but doesn't say a word. I see Suzaku flinch in the corner._

"_Wait!" I say._

_A look of hope races across the man's face, followed by suspicion. I know what he's thinking: "Good royal, bad royal, eh?" _

_Actually, I just don't like to watch. _

"_Look," I say. "The people in your areas are suffering. Your hospitals and food distribution networks have been bombed to oblivion. You can't win, but you can save a few people."_

_His head lolls to one side. I don't give up._

"_You probably think better times are waiting around the corner," I say. "Don't be an idiot. Zero's never going to bring peace. Once the Rebellion's finished, Britannia's going to lift martial law—"_

_Am I babbling?_

_Cornelia laughs. It's a sharp, harsh sound._

"_What a load of horseshit," she says. "Hey, Eleven…you want to know what your country's __really__ going to be like after Zero's gone?"_

_Cornelia's fingers coil around his throat and pull him forward. Her voice falls to a whisper._

"_Picture Area Eleven as a farm, and its people as the animals."_

_She shoves his face away._

"_Where's Narita's Committee of Five?" she demands._

"_I…don't know."_

_Cornelia scuffs her boots in the mud. The bare lightbulb paints her face in light and shadows, and I'm struck by how tired she looks. The edges of her mouth curl downward, like an old woman's perpetual frown after her facial muscles have atrophied. _

_Splat. A drop of water on my arm. Andreas flips the switch. The prisoner screams again, but this time the current seems to be interfering with his lungs. Cornelia's face is impassive. I feel my hands curl around the back of my arms, hugging them to me._

"_Off," she says. _

_The switch turns, and the screaming stops. Cornelia unrolls a map. It shows a square divided into four quarters by rows of dots, with a kidney-shaped blotch in the center that's supposed to represent Narita. She sticks it in the prisoner's face._

"_Here," she says, tapping the white space around the city. "Tell us where your partisans are operating."_

"_I don't know about that," the prisoner says. His voice cracks._

_A meaty slap echoes around the basement. Cornelia withdraws her hand._

"_The mountains, then," she says. "We know you come down from there in the winter. Where do your fellow animals camp, pig?" _

_He shakes his head._

"_I don't know! I'm just part of the city branch. We don't do much with the mountain guys. We just send weapons to the farms and report Britannian movements."_

"_How many of you?" she asks._

_The Eleven is a brave man; he hesitates. Andreas's hand tightens on the switch. Cornelia starts to nod…_

"_Two hundred!" the man gasps. "Just don't hurt me again."_

_Cornelia smiles and caresses his cheek. She brings her mouth to his ear, but instead of the expected whisper…_

"_YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE YOU KILLED EUPHIE!"_

_Cornelia pulls back and turns to Duke Andreas. _

"_You heard him: the guerrillas in the mountains rely on the city branch to get weapons. Start patrolling the rural areas."_

_Then she nods at the prisoner. Gudrun and Andreas both smile._

"_Get the information you need, then fry him till his heart gives out."_

* * *

"Um…Earth to Prince Lelouch?"

"Ah! Huh?" I said.

I rubbed my forehead and looked across the table. Reproving green eyes looked back.

**Narita, 3:22 PM: Lelouch's Personal Tent**

"Er…sorry, Kaguya," I said. My reflection in the wineglass looked like a haggard dropout in a thousand-dollar suit. Those bags under my eyes…When was the last time I'd slept, again?

Kaguya waggled a finger.

"Okay, I'll forgive you _this _time. Just don't let it happen again," she said.

I squeezed out a laugh and dipped my head in a bow.

"As you wish, milady."

Kaguya shook her head, arms crossed.

"Oh, no you don't! I was going to let it go, but if you think you're going to pawn off your little indiscretion with a condescending pat on the head, you're MISTAKEN, Mister Second Prince of Britannia."

"But—"

"No dice, buster!"

She turned away in the cutest pout I'd ever seen. I gave Suzaku a helpless look. He tried to ignore me. Fat chance.

"She's _your_ cousin, you useless lump," I whispered. "What do I—"

"I heard that!" Kaguya said.

Three sets of eyes rolled, for different reasons. An image popped into my head—Kaguya's muscles spasming from electric shocks, creating little white hills on her skin like lumps in spoiled milk. I shuddered.

* * *

_I scratch a piece of chalk across the blackboard. A lopsided circle takes shape._

"_And __here__ you see the reason for the grid system," I say. "Notice how sectors one through four are far away from the city center. When the attacks started…"_

_SQE-E-E-A-A-K!_

_I stop drawing. Am I the only one wincing? Anyway…_

"…_we were too dispersed, so we retreated to Narita's city limits," I say. "But notice what we couldn__'t__ abandon…"_

_Slowly this time, I draw lines leading from the city. A spider's web emerges._

"_The main roads can't be abandoned or the city gets strangled. And if that happens, boys and girls, the terrorists win."_

_A hand goes up in the back._

"_Yes?" I say._

_A lieutenant stands up. Blond, fresh-faced, and probably stupid._

"_So the military should follow civilian administrative networks, Highness?"_

_Okay, not so stupid after all. Or maybe I'm slowing down._

"_Right," I say. "And the Resistance'll target each enclave in turn."_

_He bows and sits, and I continue my lecture. I see him a week later. He's lying in a gutter, and someone's blown half his face off._

_

* * *

  
_

"Le-_loooouuuuch_!"

"Sorry, Kaguya."

**Narita, 3:24 PM: Lelouch's Personal Tent**

She shook her head.

"Nope, this time it's unforgiveable!" she declared.

Suzaku tried his best coaxing voice.

"Now, Kaguya, I've told you that Lelouch's been under a lot of strain recently," he said.

Kaguya was unimpressed. She smirked and shook her head again.

"That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard," she said.

Suzaku leaned back, giving me a shrug as if to say, "you break it, you buy it." I sighed.

"Kaguya, dear…" I said.

Kaguya _hmph_'ed, then winked.

"Shameful!" she teased. "The first time you've seen me in two years, and you're already taking liberties—"

"Let's cut to the point, shall we?" I said. "You're obviously in the market for a political marriage, and I'm not interested."

Kaguya's eyes widened. Suzaku bristled.

"Hey, that's my cousin you're—"

Kaguya cupped Suzaku's hand with her own. He took the hint. Kaguya put her elbows on the table and rested her head on them.

"Okay, Lelouch," she said. "Let's. It saves me a lot of time. Britannia's going to win this war, and everybody who supported Zero'll be toast when that happens. I'm one of them—"

She stopped and shifted in her seat.

"--Well, I _was_ one of them, until the Massacre. I always liked Euphie…and, um, I'm sorry…."

I sipped my tea, rolling my hand in a "continue" motion.

"Anyway, you look like you're aiming for the Viceroyalty," she said. "Since Kyoto can't fight you, we need some kind of guarantee that you'll treat Japan fairly."

I was impressed by how easily and forcefully she said "Japan" instead of "Area Eleven". With most Japanese, it took a conscious effort. Kaguya rolled it off her tongue without affectation.

"And you're the guarantee?" I said.

"No," she said. "Our children will be."

She flashed a smile.

"And you'll be happy to know that your geneticists just certified me in the ninety-nine-point-seventh percentile in all eight major categories..."

Kaguya looked at the ceiling, tapping a finger to her cheek.

"What do you Britannians call that again?" she said. "Oh, right: 'Category I: Highly Suitable'".

She giggled.

"I'm highly suitable. So…what do you say?"

I set my cup down.

"Kaguya, aren't you forgetting something?" I said.

"Nope!" she said cheerfully. "I heard all about your marriage deal with the Chinese Empress, and I'm fine with it. Charles has what—a bazillion wives? If you stop at two, that's fine."

_Where did you get that information!?_

"That wasn't what I was referring to," I said.

Her mouth formed an "o", and she poked her head forward like a curious ferret.

"What _are_ you referring to?" she asked.

I traced the rim of my cup with my forefinger.

"Kaguya, we've known each other for a while, right?"

She nodded.

"Seven years," she said. "But you haven't seen me for two, which was _very_ inconsiderate considering I'm your future wife—"

I held up my hand for silence.

"Five years ago, you told me something about your plans for the future," I said. "Do you remember what you said?"

Again, she nodded.

"That I'd never marry someone unless I loved him," she said.

"So you're telling me you're in love with me even though you haven't seen me in two years? C'mon, Kaguya."

She didn't miss a beat.

"Nope!" she said.

"Then what?"

"I'm preventing genocide, silly."

Kaguya sighed theatrically and glomped onto my arm.

"I'm afraid a combination of lust and humanitarianism will just _have_ to do," she said.

She grinned, and for the second time in five minutes, I shuddered.

* * *

**Tokyo, 7:20 PM: vi Britannia Residence**

"Hello? Anybody?"

I staggered through the door and slammed it. Or tried to. I couldn't muster the energy to give it a really satisfying _bang_. My eyes blurred, my skin itched, and my muscles crawled with that antsy feeling you get from sitting in the car too long.

But I was home.

I flicked a switch. The light that flooded the room turned everything yellow, as if I had some really nasty cataracts. A pastel drawing caught my eye. Nunnally's. But she was gone now, departed for the homeland to drown her grief in tinkering. She'd retreated to her laboratory in Alamogordo after Euphie died, just like she'd used to run to her room to play with her chemistry set after Clovis teased her. She'd taken Nina with her, but I couldn't bring myself to feel happy about that.

_Please come back soon, Nunners._

I flopped on the couch. Unsuccessfully. I landed on something soft, bony, and decidedly un-couchlike.

"Oof!" it said.

"Ack!" I said.

I leaped back, upended a table, and fell onto the floor in a heap. C.C. watched me from the couch. For reasons I couldn't fathom, she'd draped herself across the cushions wearing nothing more than a white T-shirt and briefs. She narrowed her eyes.

"If you keep carrying on like this, your girlfriend might get suspicious," she said.

Normally, I'm used to C.C.'s teasing, but she sounded slightly resentful this time. Or maybe I was just projecting my own crankiness onto her. Either way, I wasn't in the mood to play Freud that night.

"Sorry?" I said.

She raised an eyebrow and quirked her head toward the kitchen door.

"Your conscience is in the other room," she said.

"Oh, of course," I said. "My conscience. Thank you for clearing that up. For a minute there, I was worried that you'd give me a _name_ instead of metaphorical gobbledygook. See, direct answers are so _confusing_—"

C.C. sighed and twined her arms behind her head.

"The girl you slept with after the Massacre. Is that direct enough for you?"

Something crashed in the kitchen. Two seconds later, the door swung open and revealed a very angry Shirley Fennette.

"YOU TOLD HER?!" she said.

C.C. shrugged.

"Actually, _you_ told me. Just now. And I'm perfectly capable of putting the pieces together on my own, thanks."

Shirley's jaw dropped. I hadn't thought it possible, but her wide eyes bugged out even wider.

"How…?" I managed to get out.

C.C. rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please. Five hundred years old and you think I don't understand the signs?"

She spread her hands out as if pulling back an imaginary curtain.

"Picture, if you will: a passionate, emotionally needy young man who's just lost the first love of his life. His sensible, emerald haired guardian (that's me, by the way) tells him to sleep it off, but does he listen? Of course not! He waves his arms around and yells something about how heartless she is…"

She wrinkled her nose as if she was trying to be funny. I thought I saw the ghost of a wince, though.

"…then slams the door and heads off to parts unknown. Our hero returns home at six in the morning, slightly disheveled. Who could he have seen? Rivalz? Jeremiah? No chance. Kallen? Nope, she's off in Narita. Suzaku? You must be kidding. And so, my dear Lelouch, the obvious culprit is…"

C.C. twirled her finger in the air and sauntered over to Shirley. Slowly, she lowered her hand until it perched on Shirley's head, like a leaf spinning to the ground.

"For my next trick, I'm going to need a pizza. If you lovebirds will excuse me…"

She gave us each a curt nod and slid through the kitchen door. It closed behind her. I groaned and flopped back onto the newly vacated sofa. For the first time, I noticed its pattern was supposed to look like tangled ivy.

Shirley sat down next to me.

"I _am_ sorry, Lulu."

I felt my lip curl in disgust, and turned away before she could see it.

"What do you have to be _sorry_ for?" I said.

She knotted her fingers into a ball. They hung in space for a few seconds before coming to rest on her lap.

"That night…" she said. "You looked so sad and lost…I mean, like I did after Dad died. I shouldn't have taken advantage—"

I waved my hand.

"We took advantage of each other, Shirley. We both needed something, and we worked out an arrangement to get it. Let's leave it at that."

"O-okay…" she said. "That makes sense, I guess…"

She spoke so softly that I could barely hear her. I didn't reply.

"Lulu?"

"What?"

Shirley stood up. I know because I felt a weight lift from the cushion next to me, although my eyes were focused on the ceiling at the time. I was tracing hairline cracks in the paint. Shirley walked to the head of the sofa and leaned over me. Those wide, curious eyes stared at me upside down. She looked a bit like a parakeet.

"About Lucy…"

"No," I said.

Her eyes narrowed.

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask," she said.

I sat up and turned around.

"That's where you're wrong," I said. "I know _exactly_ what Saint Shirley wants. You want me to forgive Lucy because she's been abused and try to help her out. Like she's some kind of lost puppy."

"She's a person, Lulu!"

"Then she's responsible for what she's done," I said. "And I'm going to make her pay every last drop of compensation. Believe me."

I looked at my hand. It was shaking—very slightly, but shaking nonetheless. I took a breath and stood up. Letting my self-control slip _once_ in front of Shirley was bad enough; twice was unforgivable. I turned my back. She countered by putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Lulu, remember when I promised I'd tell you the truth when nobody else would?"

_Minimal response…minimal response…_

I nodded.

"We both saw into her mind, didn't we?" she said. "Well, I know I did anyway. That _thing_ in there…"

She squeezed my shoulder, probably to reassure herself rather than me. I let it pass.

"She was isolated for a month and a half, and it was eating her mind the whole time."

"Yeah? Well we all have good and bad angels on our shoulders," I said. "Haven't you seen the commercials?"

"I'm serious, Lelouch."

"So am I. We all have a conscience. Hers is just more complicated."

And then Shirley did something unexpected: she pulled on my shoulder until she was facing me. And she looked…angry.

"Except that she never got a _chance_ to grow a conscience!" she said. "You just patched her up with some cheap therapy so she'd do your killing for you. There's a big difference between saying _don't kill_ and saying _kill the people I order you to kill_ _and nobody else_."

"You're saying this is _my_ fault?" I shouted.

Shirley winced, took a deep breath, and nodded.

"Yes, Lulu. This _was_ your fault."

I'm ashamed to say it, but I almost slapped her for that. Two things stopped me. First off, she was right. It _was_ my fault. And second…

…Well, you already know.

I pushed her hand off my shoulder and grabbed my coat. I swung the door open as quickly as I could, hoping that I could get out before her confused silence gave way to a question.

"Lelouch, where are you going?"

_Too late_

"To eliminate a mistake," I said.

* * *

_**THE BRITANNIAN DAILY HERALD (from the files of the Britannian Truth and Reconciliation Commission)**_

_TEACHING DEFIANCE_

_by Reginald Trenningant_

_They call them "schools". To the growing ranks of the youth movement, protest rallies are learning experiences, chock-full of lessons for future revolutionaries. Their T-shirts ring with slogans like "Down With Obedience", "Submit This!", and "Survival of the Freest." Every Sunday, hundreds of thousands of young people gather for "Mournings" to commemorate a week's worth of freshly minted martyrs. Every Sunday, Britannian soldiers shoot them down. And every Sunday, a few more civil servants join the ranks of the "discouraged"—an antiseptic word that translates to "mourning parents who refuse to do their jobs."_

_This Saturday, the entire staff of the Britannian Stock Exchange walked out. Their reason was simple. Two days earlier, Britannian secret police from the infamous Pinkerton Branch had detained and tortured the Treasury Secretary's son, Walter, after they caught him at a rally. He died at Greenview Hospital from massive internal bleeding. The market crash has already laid off fifty thousand workers, and economists warn that the worst is still ahead. _

"_Unless something is done," warns Dr. Steven Grady (Pendragon U.), "we might see the first transportation strike on Britannian soil in a century."_

_But who are these youth protesters? What do they hope to accomplish?_

"_Man, we're just opening up space," said one, who refused to give his name. "Free space, you know? A society outside His Royal Bastardship's control. And when we get it…Oh, boy… you'll see sparks fly if those sons of bitchestry to take it away from us. Right now, they're sitting on top of Britannian society. They can throw punishments down at us, but they don't control anything anymore. Like pond scum floating on a lake. They don't penetrate, see?"_

_That's exactly the kind of talk that has bureaucrats worried. An hour after the Stock Exchange Strike, Pendragon Palace issued a preemptive proclamation banning all trade unions, student organizations, unauthorized newspapers, and for the first time in Britannian history, religious organizations. _

_Some officials fear that the "parallel government" has already arrived. Britannian lawmakers continue to avoid the halls of Parliament, and rumor has it that many are congregating at the residence of former Opposition leader Ruben K. Ashford. For once, the Pinkerton Branch was only too willing to talk about their investigation:_

"_Ashford's a dead man. And if we find out that his daughter's involved…well, let's just say we've got Branch officers who could use some companionship." _

[NOTE: Mr. Trenningant was arrested seven hours after this article went to press. Efforts to locate his body at the mass grave excavations in "Pinkerton Lots" have so far proved unsuccessful. --NVB]


	18. Turn 18: Lucy

**Chapter 18: Lucy**

_A pile of oysters whisper something that I don't understand. It's an odd language; gutteral, as if they're choking. Each word ends with a hiss. Music blares in the background. It's warbly, like songs I used to hear on television when two people danced together. _

_I look around me; I'm stuck on a table, with metal straps that chew my wrists and ankles. I feel something cold slide across my legs, and my heart leaps to my throat when I see that it's a snake. The straps won't budge. I struggle and nothing happens. My vectors flail wildly at it, but they only manage to slice my leg open. The oysters are hissing more loudly, and the snake coils around my thigh and starts constricting. A mosquito the size of a human hand alights on my forehead, twitching its antennae a fraction of an inch from my eye. I'm too panicked to move. _

_And why won't the music shut up!?_

_KA-CHUNK!_

_Light floods the room. I close my eyes, but it's too late to stop the pain. I'll be seeing red for the next few minutes. I hear an electronic voice. I __know__ it from somewhere…don't I?_

"_Sensory deprivation experiment complete. Note that subject broke down at the thirty-seventh day and experienced self-inflicted injury…."_

_Kurama. That's his name. Kurama. _

"…_Stress hormones still at acceptable levels; recommend we proceed immediately to electrocution experiments."_

_

* * *

  
_

I was awake before I could scream. It took two seconds to realize where I was, and three to realize just what a sick joke the world was. Straps still bit into my arms, and the room still smelled like hand sanitizer and fresh rubber. My reflection stared back at me from a polished metal floor so clean that you could eat off of it. Once in a while, I knew that the researchers did just that.

I was in Kamakura.

_Then_ I screamed.

"Quiet!"

Even garbled by the PA system, I thought I recognized the voice.

_Please no…please, please don't be who I think you are…_

"L-Lelouch?" I whimpered.

"Good evening, Lucy. I have a few questions for you."

Bile rose in my throat; I felt ready to vomit and sob at the same time. Then I heard something that terrified me too much to do either.

"Set the catapult for four hundred joules," Lelouch said.

I struggled against the straps, which caused them to saw in deeper. Every wriggle only wrenched my sore shoulders.

"No! Please don't do this...I never meant to—"

My words came out strangely. I realized that I was trying to chew the straps off.

"Shoot," Lelouch drawled.

A metal slug zinged at my head. It took all four of my vectors to deflect it. Another fifty joules, and I would've…

"Right about now," Lelouch said, "you're probably wondering whether I threw an underpowered slug at you deliberately or because I didn't calibrate the machine correctly."

I felt my shoulders shaking. At this point, I knew it wasn't from sobs. I was past sobbing. I started shutting down my mind into the dull, animal acceptance that never quite worked, but made it a little easier. But something was wrong. I groped for my other mind and didn't find it.

Lelouch sighed, dragging me back to the present. This was no Kurama I was dealing with. He could keep my attention, and he knew it.

"Unfortunately, I'm not going to tell you which it is," he said. "See, I have a little theory. As long as there's a _chance_ that I care about you, you're not going to take risks. Let's be honest here, Lucy: do you _really_ want to know whether I'm willing to push the button?"

There was only one answer to that. I gave it.

"Good," he said. "Now then…When did you first meet C.C.?"

_Not this…Anything but—_

"I'm waiting," he said.

"I…"

"Rakshata, could I get five hundred joules?"

"All right!" I said. "C.C. came with Empress Marianne. They wanted to introduce me to a prince and told me how I was supposed to behave."

"And that was the last time you saw her?"

"Yes."

I heard a voice in the background mutter something about heart rate and skin response.

"You're lying," Lelouch said.

A snap of the fingers, and the catapult hummed to life.

"Lelouch, don't do this to me!"

"Five…four…"

"PLEASE!"

"Three...two…"

"It _was_ the last time I saw her!" I shouted.

_He wants an answer! Give him an answer! _

_WHAT ANSWER?!_

"One…"

"I saw C.C. again!" I blurted out.

A second snap, and the machine stopped.

"Go on," he said.

"She came with a little boy who had eyes like yours and long blond hair. They told me…Lelouch, don't hate me any more for this—"

"What did they tell you?" he shouted. The microphone whined from the unexpected volume.

"They told me to kill the Empress," I said.

"Liar!"

The machine booted up again. So…no escape after all. I tried to retreat behind that familiar wall in my mind that was already cracking and crumbling. A voice mumbled something about GSR.

"Apparently, you're telling the truth," Lelouch said. "Or believe you are, at any rate. Congratulations."

His voice was more bitter than I'd ever heard it. This time, I didn't bother allowing myself a shred of hope. I knew what was coming next. Welcomed it, even.

"…Now here's what's going to happen," he said. "I'm not going to kill you. That's too easy, and you're still useful to me. No Lucy…you're going to _work_ the debt off. You'll help me finish this rotten political business by killing whoever I tell you to kill, and you're going to do it without any questions. If you're still alive at the end of it, then _maybe_ I'll let you go. I'll cast you off like scum on the bottom of my shoe and never think about you again. Do you understand?"

What else could I say? My head drooped.

"Yes, Lelouch."

"Good," he said. "Five hundred joules."

"I—what?!"

FWOOM!

It was too late to brace for impact, but I tried. As soon as I heard the noise, agonizing memories danced through my head. Previews for a coming attraction. I felt the ball tear through my chest. I felt…

…nothing?

My eyes opened. Instead of a puddle of blood, I saw my terrified face reflected from the floor in crystal clarity. The catapult had been empty. I slid to the floor until the straps yanked at my shoulders, suspending me a few inches from the ground.

"Burn this into your memory," Lelouch said. "This is what it felt like to lose Euphie. Rakshata? Cut her down."

* * *

_The building darkens. On instinct, I grab the boy's hand. It's stupid, really: I could probably decapitate anything waiting for me in the darkness, but I've never liked being alone. It evokes memories of nights when I had to step over corpses to get to the refrigerator._

_Well, not completely alone. __She's__ always there._

_I prepare to take a plunge._

"_Um…Lelouch?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Are you…I mean…um…"_

_He turns to me. At first, his expression gives me the jitters. Interest. Curiosity. I've only seen it from one other person, and that's Kurama. It's usually followed by pain. Lots of pain._

_C'mon, I think. Just ask him and get it over with._

"_Are you my friend?" _

_Lelouch chuckles and reaches over with the hand I'm not holding. He gently pats my hand._

"_Ahem…Never lose a chance to make friends," he recites, "for friends help and foes hinder at times and in places where you least expect it."_

"_So…um…?" _

_He nods._

"_Yeah, Lucy, we're friends. Now shush. The show's about to start."_

_I suddenly feel so warm and cozy that I almost forget to whisper. Whisper? I want to SING. At the last moment, I stop myself. _

"_Oh, right. Sorry."_

_The ceiling sparkleswith thousands of white pinpricks. Stars. I don't know how they did it, but some of the stars descend from the ceiling until they're floating a few feet above us. They tantalize us as they spin just out of reach. Lelouch laughs and jumps at one. His fingers miss by inches._

_Hmmm…._

"_Maybe I can help," I say._

_He shoots me a quizzical look and starts to say something. As gently as I can, I wrap my vectors around him and lift him until he's face to face with the star._

"_Ack! What the--?"_

_My stomach lurches as I realize what I've just done. Stupid. S-T-U-P-I-D. My first friend since…the orphanage? No. Since ever. Ten seconds after I find out, I've already showed him what a monster I—_

"_Fascinating!" he says. _

_I'm so surprised that I almost drop him._

"_Wh—huh!?" _

"_Full-blown telekinesis! I knew this was theoretically possible, but…wow. No wonder Mom's interested in you."_

_I try to process what he's just said. That it's theoretically possible…for humans? As in...__normal__? I feel another wave of hope.  
_

"_You can let me down now," he says. "The star's just a hologram anyway. Besides, I plan to get up-close-and-personal with a real one someday."_

_I let him descend back into his seat._

"_Can other people use telly-ka…telerkin…uh…?"_

_Lelouch grins and orders the ushers to turn on the lights. When I look at him again, he's tearing a piece of paper._

"_What are you doing?"_

"_Just watch," he says._

_He opens the fold-out table on the side of his armrest and puts the shred of paper in the center. Then he leans back. As he sinks into the chair, his eyes close and I notice lines of tension appear on his forehead. _

"_Don't watch __**me**__," he says. "Watch the paper."_

"_How did you know I was--?"_

_I stop talking when my eyes reach the table. A normal human might take a few seconds to recognize what I saw, perhaps blinking a few times to make sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. But then, as everyone loves to remind me, I'm not "normal". I'd seen this too many times before._

_The paper moves—not very fast, but in slow, inching circles. Then it speeds up. It moves around an invisible central point in jerky steps, like a beetle's crawl. The movement continues for a couple seconds, then stops. Lelouch sighs and rubs his temples._

"_Phew. That's all I can do for now."_

"_But...Was that--?"_

_I want to stammer a thousand questions. Ever the helpful friend (what a beautiful new word…), he answers all of them before I can ask them._

"_It's a side-effect of the eugenics program," he says. "They figured it out in the forties A.T.B. when they started with heavy genetic modification. It really freaked the royal nurses out. They thought the nurseries were haunted or something. Then there's the other stuff: short-term clairvoyance, prophetic dreams, statistically improbable 'coincidences'…"_

"_But why were you so surprised?" I ask. " I mean, if you can do the same thing?" _

_He laughs ruefully._

"_I __wish__ I could do the same thing. That little party trick you just saw is the extent of my ability, and I'm better at it than anybody else. They tested us when we were kids."_

"_Oh…"_

_Lelouch strokes his chin, and I watch his eyes drift to my horns._

"_This is just a guess, but I bet your horns amplify the ability somehow."_

_I look away._

"_Yeah…you're probably right."_

_This is the part of the memory where my other personality is supposed to order me to shut up. Or __**was**__ the part. I think. Any minute now…_

…_Where is she?_

_Everything slows down to a crawl, then stops completely. Lelouch's worried face looks like a manikin or an actor on a DVD after you hit "pause". He's waiting for me to say something, but I can't until my other personality gets in her scripted lines. But she's missed her cue._

_Just get it over with, I think._

_Silence. Lelouch's still on pause._

"_WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!" I shout. _

_Something bubbles under Lelouch's skin. His face starts to run like wet paint. The ends of the theater grow dimmer, absorbed in a black chasm that's moving inward. Closer to us. At last, we stand alone; an island of reality in a sea of darkness. Then Lelouch dissolves as well._

"_Where are you?" I yell. Maybe, like a magical incantation, __this __ordering of words will summon her so I can finish the memory. And still she doesn't come. The space around me grows purple, and cold. _

_And still empty._

_

* * *

  
_

"WHERE ARE YOU?!"

"She's gone," a voice replied from the corner of the room.

I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The whitewashed walls with their plaster moldings told me that I was still in Kamakura. Overhead, a fluorescent light flickered.

"What do you mean 'gone'?" I demanded. "And who are you?"

The girl leaned into the light. I recognized the double-breasted buttons and tan necktie of her Ashford uniform. She pushed her skirt down and fiddled with her fingers.

_Idiot!_

I shot to my feet.

"Shirley, get out of here _now_."

"But—"

"You think this is some kind of game?" I snapped. "Lelouch hates me enough without my having to explain why I chopped you into little pieces."

"But—"

"LEAVE! GET OUT!"

But Shirley just stayed there there, trembling but firmly attached to her seat. I closed my eyes and begged my alter ego to behave long enough to get her out of there. Any minute now, that irresistible hatred would pump through my body and leave Lelouch's friend a mass of mutilated tissue. Shirley's voice cut through my thoughts. It had a gentle firmness to it that I hadn't noticed before; its few shrill edges probably came from fear, not anger.

"Lucy, I already told you: she's gone."

I took a step back. Or at least my body did, and I noticed.

"Wh-what? How…?"

"They found an antidote," she said simply.

"But Kurama said—"

"He lied."

And just like that, my world flipped.

_Free…_

The word I'd dreamed but never dared to speak aloud for years. Without thinking, I found myself on the bed, face down. When I fully processed Shirley's words, I felt something gnaw at the edge of my awareness. I was afraid. Then I said something I never thought I'd say…and to a person I'd never thought I'd say it to.

"Shirley, what am I going to do?"

The chair creaked as Shirley stood up. She took a step forward, her hands raised halfheartedly. That was as close as she got. The hands dropped again, and returned to their fiddling.

"Well, um…"

I rolled my eyes.

"It's no use hanging back," I said. "My vectors reach you from there anyway."

I probably expected her to gape and dash out the door as fast as her legs could carry her, but Shirley surprised me. After a moment of hesitation, she took a deep breath and nodded.

"You're right. Sorry."

Then she took her chair and dragged it across the floor until it stood next to my bed. It squealed on the tile floor, and the walls made it sound louder than it should have been. I pretended not to notice, keeping my eyes fixed on a tarnished brass bedknob. But the girl was patient, and my desire to get the conversation over with finally got the better of me.

"So you're here to gloat, huh?" I said.

"Of course not!"

_Now_ I could hear a little shrillness in her voice. I opened my eyes a fraction of an inch and looked at her. She sat straight as a ramrod, legs crossed and huddled under the chair like a nervous child. After what I'd done to her in the school hallway, I can't say I blamed her.

"I'm not an idiot," I said. "I can smell _him_ on you."

She stared for half a second before the meaning of my words hit home. Before that moment, I'd never seen a girl blush so furiously.

"What? I—no! I mean…"

"You won," I said. "Congratulations. Now leave me alone."

I turned back to the wall and my bedknob-contemplation. The respite lasted only a moment.

"Hey!" she said.

"Shirley, you're the last person on Earth I want to talk to right now, so if you wouldn't mind…"

"I _do_ mind!" she said. "I'm not going to leave you alone like this. You think I'm gloating? Well, Lucy, you'll be happy to know that we only..."—she screwed up her face—"we only slept together once, and it didn't mean anything to him. I was just a sideshow to cheer him up. I never had a chance, and never will. Happy now?"

"You're crying," I observed.

"Yeah, well…just a little water in my eyes, right? Besides, this visit isn't about me."

She tried to smile. To my surprise, it worked…enough, anyway.

"Speaking of which, how did you get in here?" I asked.

"I…um…"

Her legs twined around each other.

"C.C. sent you to kill me, didn't she?" I said.

She nodded.

"The gun's in my purse. Lelouch wasn't supposed to know."

I exhaled and rolled over. Hair fell across my eyes, but I didn't care enough to brush it away.

"So what are you waiting for?" I said.

Shirley's face hardened into the first scowl I'd ever seen from her.

"How can you even ASK me that?" she said. "Lelouch wouldn't allow me in, so I lied to C.C. to get here."

I shrugged. One of my vectors dug into her bag until it felt the hard ridges of a pistol grip. I deposited it at Shirley's feet.

"You claim you're loyal to Lelouch?" I said. "Fine. Shoot me. We both know I'm dangerous to him as long as I'm alive."

"Not anymore," she said.

"_Always_. An antidote won't fix sixteen years of killing people"

"You haven't killed _me_ yet," she retorted.

"I'm starting to reconsider," I said. "Pick it up and shoot, Shirley."

"No."

"So you don't have the guts to protect Lelouch after all," I said. "Maybe I should _force_ you to pull the trigger."

I stood up and did my best to loom over her, trying to summon the rush that I'd always felt before killing. Maybe if I looked threatening enough…but that was an act, wasn't it? I dug into places that once held deep undercurrents of rage and found dried-up tunnels instead.

It didn't convince Shirley either.

"You know something, Lucy?" she said. "I don't think _you_ have the guts. You're trying to escape because your life's too tough right now."

"You have _no_ idea—"

"What you've gone through?" she said. "That's true. But I _do _know that I'm not going to be your executioner. If you want to die, fine, but I won't help you. And if you ask me, all this 'I'm a threat to Lelouch' stuff is just a copout. You can make your own choices now."

I looked away and sat at the far side of the room again.

"Bullshit."

"He needs you," she said.

"Like a dog needs lice."

"I didn't say he _likes_ you," she said, "But he _does_ need you. Badly. Or did you forget the war?"

I snorted.

"Aren't you supposed to be Britannian?" I said.

"I'm with Lelouch," she said.

Her words carried a hint of accusation.

"So am I," I said.

"Then help him."

Whatever reserves of anger I'd possessed had burned out a long time ago. I lay down again. The bedsprings squeaked until I rolled onto my side and felt the coarse fibers of the mattress rub against my cheek.

"Fine," I said at last. "But I want you to keep the gun, just in case I ever—"

"I won't," she said. "And neither will you."

"Shirley…"

She shook her head.

"I'm taking the gun back to C.C. in the morning and telling her to shove it up her nose," she said.

I couldn't help it; I laughed. Not at the joke itself, but at Shirley's pseudo-profanity. Even in matters of life and death, she couldn't bring herself to swear.

"Lucy?" she said.

"What?"

"I have something for you."

With that, she bent down and rummaged through her purse.

"What is it this time?" I said. "A noose to hang myself? Cyanide capsules? A miniature electric chair?"

Shirley grinned. Her hand stopped moving, and she pulled a tiny mottled book from her bag.

"Better," she said.

I picked it up with one of my vectors and suspended it a few inches from my face. The cell's walls magnified the echoing _br-flitflitflit_ of the pages as I flipped through them. One of them had writing on it:

* * *

_Ways to Kill Shirley:_

_Release a rabid wombat into her room_

_Convince her to ride a unicycle across the Grand Canyon_

_Force her to listen to recordings of every speech Lelouch ever delivered. Twice._

_

* * *

  
_

"What's this?" I asked.

"I…um…Well, I thought that you'd need a journal, so I started your favorite section off for you…"

With great care, I ripped out the page, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it at Shirley. It bounced gently off her forehead.

"I don't think I'll need it," I said. "Now if you wouldn't mind giving me some privacy…"

"Huh?"

I clicked a pen and bent over the journal. She got the message.

"Oh! Right…"

Shirley was almost out the door before I could say anything. I had to grab her with one of my vectors.

"Eek! Um, I mean…Yes, Lucy?"

"Take care of Lelouch for me," I said.

Shirley gave a brisk nod.

"I will," she said.

* * *

**_From the files of the Britannian Truth and Reconciliation Commission:_**

_MEMO_

_TO: H.R.H. Schneizel el Britannia_

_FROM: Andreas, Duke of Baader_

_SUBJ: Re:--Nonviolent Resistance_

_Expect campaign of selective resistance over several years, not months. Threat not immediate, but slow until final stages. Dramatic examples like Indonesia unusual. Studies emphasize victory NOT inevitable._

_Resistance will indulge in celebrations of "successes". Recommend suppression. Recommend also: blurrification & defocalization of bureaucratic fiefdoms; democratic planners will want to destroy specific depts (e.g. Pinkerton Branch) with counterrevolutionary potential if they succeed. In event of deposition of C. di B., coup d'etat may still be possible if democratic leadership decapitatated or prevented from long-term planning. _

_Strongly disagree with Pinkerton Branch re: Ruben K. Ashford. Recommend turning subject into double agent via taking daughter hostage._

_All Hail Britannia._


	19. Turn 19: Lelouch

_**TO:** LordByron111_

_**FROM:** BlindedByTheLight23_

_**SUBJ:** Hello again from Alamogordo_

_Brother,_

_Sorry, but I can't come back to Japan yet. Everything's still too fresh in my mind. Please don't think too unkindly of me._

_In other news, Nina found something interesting during our experiment yesterday. I don't think it'll go anywhere, but it's taking her mind off of Euphie (not to mention my own...), so that's OK. Don't roll your eyes–I know what you think of Nina, but she liked Euphie a lot and was hit as hard as anybody._

_I'm reading your dispatches from the front every day. Be safe._

_Hugs & Kisses,_

_Nunners_

_

* * *

  
_

I leaned back in my chair. It was one of those wheeled, swiveling numbers, with plastic armrests that gave it the feeling of chintzy comfort. They'd carted it up from Tokyo for me. In a couple days, they'd have to cart it back to the Narita compound. But for now, "the field" beckoned.

I'd dedicated the last half hour to sitting, moping, and surveying "my" new house. A wooden cuckoo clock rested above me on the mantelpiece, its hands slowly reaching toward the next hour. The floor creaked as my chair's wheels rolled across it. I'd noticed that sound a lot recently; I wondered idly how much of the Japanese Revolutionary War had unfolded to the tune of creaky seats and floorboards.

In any event, I'd selected the house carefully. It was an old mansion of a building, but not so old that it smelled of musty authority, and not so big that it looked ostentatious. The couple who'd lived there had been happy to rent it to me. Smart move. Most Britannians would have outright confiscated the place, and they knew it.

The house sat in the center of Narita suburbia...or what had once been suburbia before we'd ringed it with barbed wire and blockhouses. A newfangled castle to contain our newfangled serfs. The suburb's population had become the proud residents of _Arrondissement _15.

That was one of the odd things about Britannia in my youth: the more you resisted us, the more we reduced your life to ones and zeros. "Numbers". Area Eleven. Arronsissement 15. I wonder how long it would have taken before Suzaku received the title "Honorary Britannian #45960210". No doubt he would have worn it proudly, like the lapdog he was. The curfew horn blared its fifteen minute warning.

_CLICK!_

"SAH!"

I almost jumped out of my seat. Color Sergeant Rourke always had such an enthusiastic way of making his presence known. I swiveled the chair around.

"Yeah, Rourke?"

His face didn't show any signs that he disapproved of my informality, but I saw the ends of his handlebar mustache twitch like an angry caterpillar. He clicked his heels together again, and his voice drummed out with machine gun monotony.

"Prisoner to see you, sah! Says he's Britannian, but didn't have a ration card, sah! Little chap, sah!"

Something twisted in the pit of my stomach.

"Bring him in."

Rourke stepped aside with the precision of a Swiss automaton. A little boy in a purple robe that matched his eyes–my eyes–stepped out from behind him. The boy crossed his hands behind his back and looked me up and down as if he was inspecting a parade.

"Well, well...long time no see, nephew."

I fought with every fiber of my willpower to avoid widening my eyes. My fingers had already started to clench, so I converted the motion into a gentle one-two-three-four tapping rhythm that I hoped would dissipate the energy and give me an air of thoughtfulness.

"Nice try," the boy said.

I nodded to Rourke, who showed himself out. And none too soon.

"We know what you're up to, _Zero_" he said. "And I'm afraid you have a lot of explaining to do with Charles."

This time, I didn't bother hiding my shock. The nasty little munchkin fit Lucy's description to a "T", right down to the marbles-in-the-mouth way he pronounced his r's with a slight 'w' accent.

"Care for a walk, uncle?" I said.

He grinned.

"I thought you'd never ask. And call me V.V. You know, like the German missile."

That clinched it. Like my green-haired houseguest, he said it "Vee Two" rather than "Vee Vee". I opened the door and ushered him out.

"Code bearer?" I asked.

He snorted.

"That goes without saying."

Contemptuous, arrogant, and a tad snarky...Oh, he was a relation all right. As he eyed the neighborhood, I noticed that V.V. had the family talent of looking at everything as if he was surveying it from a mountain. Pretty impressive at three feet tall.

"Kids these days," I muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll tell you when you're older."

A pair of Eleven gendarmes tipped their hats as we passed. Thugs for hire, really, but preferable to allowing them to work for the terrorists. Angry young men have their uses. V.V. crossed his arms and glared at me.

_Aw...how cute._

"Funny how I'm less androgynous at eight than you are at seventeen," he said.

"Touche," I said. "But isn't the subject of my sexual preferences a little grown-up for you?"

"Good," he said. "You're as obnoxious as your mother. That'll make things easier."

The knot in my stomach constricted again. A thought struck me: Here, finally, I had an enemy who I could beat up. I suppressed the urge immediately.

"You said my father knows what I'm up to..."

V.V. stopped and scuffed his shoe on the pavement instead of replying. I waited.

"Is Lucy still alive?" he asked.

"You tell me," I said. "You're the one who developed her to kill my mother."

V.V. looked at me with a bored expression that reminded me of C.C.'s. He continued as if he hadn't heard me.

"I only ask because her vectors are called 'vectors' for a reason," he said. "They can infect normal humans with a virus that produces diclonism in their offspring."

"Lemme guess," I said. "It would be _inconvenient _if the Eugenics department had to wipe them all out before they're born. Is that it?"

He leered and patted me on the shoulder. My skin crawled a little. I felt a look of disgust pass across my face, but this time, I didn't disguise it.

"Right you are, my boy," he said. "But we're getting away from the subject. Tell me about your operations at Narita," he said.

I shrugged. _Sure, why not?_

"It won't help you anyway. We've divided the countryside into fortified camps, and we're not allowing food out to reach the guerrillas," I said. "The spaces between the camps are a little harder, so we're forming local militias."

He looked at me skeptically.

"And the guerrillas–sorry, _your _guerrillas–don't have anything to say about that?"

"We moved too quickly for them," I said. "They haven't been able to form anything above company size. We beefed up our own teams so they can't get mauled anymore."

As if to emphasize my point, we rounded a corner and saw one of our four-company contingents as they marched quietly out of the gate. A Britannian knife pointed at the Resistance by some anonymous Eleven informant. V.V. appraised them and nodded.

"Fine group of men," he admitted. "Are they necessary?"

"I don't follow."

He sneered.

"Police work," he said. "Sitting in villages and crossroads like a bunch of second-rate cops isn't soldier's work."

"You wouldn't happen to come from Cornelia's side of the family...?"

"When I was actually young, we didn't involve ourselves with nonsense like this," he said. "We left sniffing out weapons caches to bureaucratic slobs who were too cowardly to fight."

I sloughed off his none-too-veiled insult with a wave of my hand.

"We'll send in the police after we've secured the area," I said. "And if you ignored this stuff in the good ol' days, it's no wonder that the conquest of South America took you so long."

V.V. nodded as if he was ready to take my retort in stride.

"Schneizel _also _suspects you," he said suddenly.

For once, he'd hit me with old news.

"Good for him," I said. "But since he doesn't _know_, I assume you didn't tell him, which means you're still trying to maintain the balance of power between us."

He shrugged.

"What can I say? Politics is a bitch. But how long d'you think it'll be before he inspects you for contact lenses?"

"I don't think he–"

"–has the authority?" V.V. said. "Au contraire, nephew. As First Prince, he can have you searched whenever he wants to. He'd just need to assume command of the Narita operation and become your acting C.O."

"I'd refuse, of course," I said.

"Then you'd give him his answer anyway. And I doubt Charles would protect you."

I laughed in his face. V.V. raised an eyebrow.

"Schneizel's not stupid enough to come after me," I said.

"Really?" he said. "Let's see, Lelouch: You have onetwothreefour...five royal murders on your hands. Four of them were important. Schneizel would be able to mobilize supporters faster than vultures to a carcass."

He let that sink in for a moment. My eyes followed the troops as they disappeared behind the gate.

"You'll hang," he said. "No question about it."

I misplaced my foot an inch away from the sidewalk's edge. It squished into the mud. V.V. smirked and flicked a card in my face.

"The time and date of your next audience with Charles," he said. "If you survive long enough to wrap this business up, we'll have a lot to talk about."

He bowed and disappeared into a cranny between the shanties.

_C.C...._

My questions would have to wait. Maddening though it was, I couldn't meet up with C.C. without alerting V.V. and (apparently) my father of her location. I took a deep breath and resolved to wait.

The breath helped about as much as a band aid would've helped Euphie.

* * *

_The line of men in front of us shuffles uneasily. The black rings around their eyes testify to sleep deprivation; they're not swollen enough to be from beatings. Their feet churn the muddy ground._

_"First echelon," Suzaku says. "A couple escaped before we brought 'em here, but they won't get far."_

_Just a week longer, I remind myself._

_"I ordered non-invasive interrogations," I say._

_Suzaku gives me a curt nod and says that they were treated as ordered. A lie, of course. He probably tells himself that he's guarding my precious conscience. Since I don't call him on it, he may be right. The pink-haired girl who doesn't remotely remind me of Euphie rolls her eyes. I blink once, unsure if her sudden burst of affect was my imagination._

_What she says next dispels all doubt._

_"Informants have enough to worry about without complicating things by letting their victims off easily," Anya says._

_A pause._

_"You're staring, Prince."_

_"You, er...remind me of someone," I say. "Never mind. Carry on."_

_  
I wipe the rain from my eyes and walk back to my tent. The water binds my hair together until it hangs in clumps across my face. I shake my head, but there's something very odd..._

_  
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Anya smile._

* * *

"Some party," Milly muttered.

The Christmas tree twinkled unconvincingly. A draft from who-knows-where whistled through the dining room, making the flame in the fireplace flicker. Above the mantelpiece, a picture of Lloyd Asplund loomed over both of us. The shadows made his face seem even more stoat-like than usual. I looked closely at the painting and realized that he was standing in front of a picture of Lloyd Asplund, who stood in front of a picture of Lloyd Asplund, who stood in front of a picture of Lloyd Asplund...

Milly hugged her arms together, ostensibly from the cold. Her santa hat drooped.

"Did we _have _to meet here?"

We both knew the answer to that, so I didn't bother to reply. In situations like that, I'd learned that it was usually best to let Milly vent. She was quiet tonight, though. I looked outside the window as a cascade of snow flurried past it.

"Care for a walk?" I said.

Five minutes later, we were crunching our way through foot-deep snow. The woods were lovely, dark, deep, and all that other Robert Frost shit. The sky took on an orange tint from reflected lights, but that was in the distance. Above us, it remained gray and cold.

We passed a frozen duck pond. I stole a glance at Milly; she'd bundled herself up in a fur-rimmed coat (no environmentalist, she) that framed her oval face and slightly slanting eyes very fetchingly. Snowflakes alighted on her collar and melted.

"Remember the snowball fights we used to have?" she asked.

I winced as I remembered the cold, wet smack of snow against my face.

"You had a cannon for a right arm, as I recall," I said.

A strand of hair fell across her eyes. She looked up and blew it away. Then she gave me one of those effusive Milly Smiles (tm) and pinched my cheek.

"Nah, you were just a wimp," she said.

"That, too..."

Instead of laughing, Milly gave me an odd look and then stared past me. She flopped into the snow. At first I thought she was planning to make a snow angel; then I realized that her face wasn't rosy from the cold.

"Milly, are you–What's wrong?"

It was so unlike Milly to cry. Still, I'd asked a stupid question.

"I know why you're here," she said. "You want Dad's help in some kind of political scheme."

No use denying it. I sat down beside her and absently crumpled some snow into a little ball of ice.

"He doesn't have to do it if he doesn't want to," I said.

Her teary eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, because dying sounds _so _much better," she said. "Everybody knows it's just a matter of time before the execution warrant arrives. Like I told you earlier, we Ashfords don't have options like Royals do."

Her breaths formed ragged little clouds in the air. I saw wisps of steam rise from her cheek.

"Don't worry, Milly..."

I forced a smile

"...Remember the old days, when we used to break into the court wardrobe and play Emperor and Empress?" I said.

She replied so softly that I barely heard her.

"You don't know me as well as you think you do, Lulu."

"Sorry?"

Her head snapped up, and she poked me in the chest with her glove.

"You _should _be. Maybe you see this as a game. Fine. This isn't a game for me, Lulu. And I don't appreciate it that you think I'm so childish that I don't understand what's at stake here."

I felt myself wilting. The cloud from my sigh disappeared on the wind.

"I'm sorry, Milly."

"Not good enough."

"Eh?"

"Not good enough," she repeated, jabbing her finger at me again. "I want you to promise that Dad'll be safe."

"Milly..."

"Promise me."

I looked at that hopeful face and said something I'm still ashamed of.

"I promise, Milly."

Her expression soured.

"Liar."

It took me aback–so much that I almost forgot to bluster. Almost.

"Eh? Milly, what the–?"

"There are no guarantees in this business, Lulu. Both of us know that. And now you know that I know."

Milly stabbed her foot into the snowbank in front of us. It stuck.

"I'll tell Dad to support whatever you're planning," she said. "Like I said, we don't have a choice."

A long silence passed. I wanted very badly to offer to walk her back to the house, but there was no way to make that fly. At last, we both stood up and kinda drifted our separate ways–she to Lloyd's house, and I to my car. Then I made a promise to myself that I _did _intend to keep. One way or another, I'd make it up to her. As I drove home, though, Milly's voice crept out of some recess of my mind to taunt me.

"How long before you break this one?"

* * *

_"Name?" I ask._

_The girl shifts in her seat. Her eyes move rapidly around the room, wide and constantly on guard. I fumble through the folders._

_"Mayu, Your Majesty."_

_Aha!–The folder. Too late. Mostly for appearances' sake, I look through it until I reach her record. Mustn't let her think I'm indifferent, after all._

_"How long ago did you move to Narita, Mayu?"_

_She looks confused._

_"But Your Majesty, isn't the file..."_

_"Your own answer, if you please."_

_Mayu lowers her head and kneads her skirt between her fingers._

_"Three months. I turned up missing during the Kamakura census and got my stepfa–my mother's husband into trouble. Mother had family in the area, and she thought they could keep a better eye on me, so all three of us moved here."_

_I leaned forward across my desk and interlaced my fingers in my best "bureaucratic interrogator" pose. Unfortunately, she was too interested in the floor to see me._

_"Seems like a big step to deal with one runaway daughter," I said._

_"With respect, Majesty..."_

_Mayu stopped and chewed on her fingernail._

_"Go on," I said. "This is your lucky day; I'm the only Britannian noble who doesn't mind honesty."_

_She formed her words slowly, as if Japanese was her second language and she was being very careful to get the words right._

_"Your Majesty...doesn't understand the census...I mean, what it's like for us. If anything's off, it's very, very bad."_

_"Er...yeah...And you prefer life in our fortified suburb?" I said._

_Mayu tilted her head to one side, eyes still fixed on the floor. She opened her palms away from her body._

_"It's better than life outside, I guess," she said. "There's more food."_

_"Hmm," I said. "Look, Mayu; I'm going to get straight to the point. Your tip about your step–er--your mother's husband's involvement with the Resistance was dead on. We want you as an informant."_

_The girl jumped out of her chair._

_  
"No! I–"_

_TLEEP_

_Anya's camera squeaked delightedly as it recorded Mayu's alarm for posterity. After her brief glimmer of emotion in the lineup a week ago, Anya's voice was deadpan again._

_"You have a simple choice," she said. "You will work for us, or we will inform your mother that you turned your stepfather in."_

_It was...interesting...to watch Mayu's reaction as she watched the metaphorical doors swing shut.  
_

_"I...I don't have a choice, do I?" she said._

_

* * *

  
_

How right she was.

I never saw Mayu again, so I can only assume the Resistance got her. Yet the story stuck in my mind. Maybe I'm being harsh, but I can't say I'd be all that upset if they did get her. I don't know the story behind her betrayal, but seriously...What kind of person sells out her own father?

(Yeah, yeah, I know: Pot, meet kettle).


	20. Turn 20: Lucy

**Chapter 20: Lucy**

_Scriiiiiitch…..Scriiiiiiiitch_

I drew a diagonal slash across the line of four I's with my vector and stepped back to survey my work. That made how long, now?

Two weeks, probably more. It was hard to tell without daylight, and I'd relied on guesses. Shirley hadn't come since then…Which was no surprise. There was no way she'd get past Lelouch twice.

_Didn't you figure that out a week ago?_

_Yeah, but I'm keeping my mind busy. _

_Oh, like when you used to talk to yourself?_

_Yeah…kinda like that._

I looked down and noticed the rubber track from my shoes. I'd worn it into the floor a week ago, but I pretended this was the first time I'd seen it. I ran through the old song and dance:

_Wow…I must be __really__ bored!_

_Yeah, you're telling me! This is ridiculous!_

Cue laughter. I managed a weak smile, congratulated myself, and then went back to pacing. After a while, I sat down. My right foot numbed as one leg squished the other—a fact I didn't discover until I shifted and felt tingly needles pricking my toes. I paid attention to the discomfort...

My foot had been asleep for five minutes and twenty three seconds. That's how long it took to build up that level of intensity. I slumped onto the bed and clicked my vectors against the walls. One of them echoed oddly against a corner.

_Neat sound…_

I tapped on that spot seventy-two more times.

I wanted to cry, throw things, and jump off the walls. My journal stared at me from the foot of the bed, but I'd already filled it front-to-back in the first two days. I felt like my skin was crawling with spiders, if that makes any sense.

_Just give me something._ _Anything_…

I screamed into the pillow. It didn't help.

Why was I breaking up like this? I'd suffered worse—oh, gods knew I'd suffered worse—and I'd never cracked. Had I become accustomed to talking to people? Or was it that I didn't have _her_…?

And then, a beautiful sound: the bolt on the door clunked and somebody walked in. I would have settled for anybody, but…

"L…Lelouch!? Am I halluc—"

"No."

"Oh… good, I guess."

_Idiotl! _I inwardly shouted at myself.

I huddled in the corner, my eyes carefully averted. After Lelouch's first visit a week ago, I'd rehearsed staying quiet and waiting for him to speak first a hundred times. But excitement had gotten the better of me, and I'd failed. Again.

Lelouch walked to the center of the cell and stared down at me.

"It's two days till Zero Hour," he said. "Pun intended, by the way--"

I tried to laugh, but it came out as a fake little thing that fooled neither of us.

"—and don't interrupt. Have you studied my instructions?"

"Yes, Lelouch."

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together with a little _swosh-swish_ sound that most humans can't pick up unless they listen closely.

"Good," he said.

A pause.

Lelouch stood in the center of my room like an actor who'd forgotten his lines. I wondered if I should say something.

_You don't deserve to say __anything__ to him._

"You're right…" I muttered.

"Eh?"

I put a hand to my mouth.

"Oh! Nothing! I'm sorry, Lelouch."

He gave a barely perceptible nod. His eyes were still fixed the far wall. I jumped to a conclusion and started babbling.

"I'm sorry about the wall, Lelouch! I promise I won't do it again if it annoys you. I promise!...It's just that sitting here is so boring…"

He looked at me as if he'd just realized that I was in the room.

"What are you talking about?"

"I…weren't you…I mean, I thought you were angry about the scratches…."

Lelouch raised an eyebrow. You'll think I'm stupid for saying this, but my heart did a little loop when I saw that. So he _was_ okay! Good. He'd seemed so…leaden.

"Lucy, I honestly could not care _less_ about what you do to this wall..."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"…Or in general," he added.

An afterthought.

My body winced involuntarily. Again, Lelouch didn't seem to notice. I took a deep breath and tried to keep the tremor out of my voice.

"Is everything all right?" I asked.

"That's none of your…"

Lelouch's trailed off and his head tilted slightly to the side. Without a word, he walked forward and picked at an imaginary spot on the wall.

"This place is falling apart," he muttered.

He turned around. I quickly looked away.

"Yes, Lelouch."

"They're shipping your sisters off somewhere in Central Asia," he said. "Do you know anything about it?"

"I…I guess I could check if the empathic links are still up," I said. "It would take a while."

I didn't see his reaction because I was busy drawing an invisible figure eight on the floor with one of my fingernails. I heard a heavy sigh, then silence.

"It can wait until after Narita," he said at last. "You'll have a job to do if the plan goes haywire."

"Yes, Lelouch."

His upper body tilted toward the door, but his feet stayed pointed at the wall. Finally, his body worked out a compromise: it leaned against the wall.

"Where did I go wrong, d'you think?" he asked suddenly.

A heavy feeling grew in my chest. I _knew_ the answer to that.

"When you trusted me," I whispered.

"No."

My eyes shot up to his face. They must have reflected my bewilderment, since Lelouch smirked a little. But only a little.

"Wh-But Lelouch…?"

"No," he said. "I knew about your mental parasite for a long time and should've factored it in. There must've been something else."

"I don't know what else—"

His fingers drummed impatiently on the concrete.

"You were Zero as long as I was," he said. "You're qualified to answer."

I wrung my hands on my lap and looked away again.

"Lelouch, I…I mean….It's not my place…"

His face hardened.

"I asked you a question. Answer it."

"_Good evening, Lucy. I have a few questions for you…"_

I shivered and tried to push the memory out of my mind. It was like trying to push down a skyscraper.

"Jeremiah," I said at last. "When you sent Sayoko to kill Villetta and Jeremiah got killed."

I'd expected Lelouch to scream or slap me. Instead, he shrugged and slumped on the bed. He leaned forward on his knees and watched me as I sat on the floor.

"Explain," he said.

My figure-eight pattern sped up until it deteriorated into scribble.

"Ever since he died, you've been…detached, or not interested, or something….Well, I mean, you've been interested, obviously, but…"

I must have sounded like an idiot, but Lelouch's face was expressionless.

"…But it's like you've been trying to wind everything up as quickly as possible," I said. "Like you were ignoring options and opportunities because you'd—"

"—fallen out of love with the sport?" he said with a bitter laugh.

I nodded.

Lelouch lay down on his stomach, resting his chin on his hands. He looked away from me, toward the door.

"I never went to see him, you know," he said.

"Who?"

"Jeremiah. I was so ticked off that he'd refused to see me--and this was the guy who raised me for _years_, mind you--Shit, I never even saw the _body_…"

Traces of an older Lucy answered before I had time to stop her.

"A corpse is a corpse, isn't it?"

He didn't answer.

"Oh Lelouch, I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking…I didn't mean—"

His hand rose as if it was on automatic pilot and waved me off. The rest of him stayed still.

"No, you're right," he said. "That's what I told myself. Selfish, vicious guy that I am…"

"Lelouch! You're not—"

He growled and glared at me.

"Yeah, I am," he snapped. "Our little interview at the firing range should have taught you that much."

I rubbed my wrists. The memories, never fully suppressed, flooded back again.

"You didn't go through with it," I whispered.

"Close enough."

"But you didn't."

_Lelouch, please let me cling to __something__…._

"Maybe not," he said. "But if you hadn't answered…who knows?"

"Nobody," I said. "But you're the one who doesn't like what-ifs."

Lelouch rolled onto his side and didn't speak for a long while. On instinct, I counted the seconds like I'd been doing for the last week and a half.

"Schniezel's coming to take command in a few days," he said, finally. "If tomorrow's battle doesn't work out, the game's over."

Here, at last, I felt like I was on firmer ground.

"You'll win like you always do, Lelouch," I said.

"Maybe. But if it doesn't work—"

"But—"

He raised his voice and enunciated very clearly.

"_If…it…doesn't…work…" _he repeated

I sighed.

"Yes, Lelouch?"

"…Then you'll shut everything down," he said. "All of it. No revenge. Nothing. That's my final order. D'you understand me?"

"But what if--?"

"Hostilities cease the _second_ I die. _Instantly!_ Understood?"

I started to nod…

"Unless you're going to betray me again," he added with a sneer.

The insult dug deep and leaked into my bloodstream.

"I'll do everything you tell me to," I said.

"No questions?"

"No questions."

Even as I said it, I knew I'd lied to him. And I felt ashamed. Lelouch stood up and shuffled toward the door. At the last moment, he turned around.

"If I _do_ die, I want you to go to my cabin and get my diaries," he said.

"You won't die—" I began.

His eyes narrowed.

"Okay, Lelouch. And then what?"

He waved his hand in an airy gesture I hadn't seen him use in months. He seemed lost again, and looked at the ceiling.

"I…err…I dunno, actually…" he said. "Edit 'em, I guess. Isn't that what people do with memoirs?"

"I wouldn't know," I said.

"No…no, I guess not."

He raised his hand in a feeble goodbye and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Mist clung to my knightmare frame. It was morning, and the Narita Mountains were receiving their first drops of dew. Below me, Suzaku's knightmare frames poured into the sector laconically labeled "Q-2" on my tactical map. I grinned. Unlike the combatants at the base of the mountain, I could see both sides' moves and countermoves. The same BritNet system that allowed Suzaku to move his men with the precision of a choreographer also allowed me to spot his weaknesses.

Q-2 was pretty small; not many people, and the few guerrillas who used it were getting squeezed out by inches as Suzaku forcibly opened the thoroughfares in the sectors around it. The reports said that the population didn't take the Black Knights seriously anymore, and they were mostly right. Cornelia had coordinated Suzaku's sector command with Gino's and Anya's. Now they would all push into Q-2's refuge areas.

_Here we go…_

In minutes, three divisions of knightmares rocketed out of their hiding places, past the new schoolhouses and refugee camps that Britannia's "Hearts and Minds" campaign had constructed in the wake of reconquest. Just as quickly, Japanese knightmares scrambled out of their foxholes to warn their comrades. The Britannians gunned the pickets down before they got twenty yards. I looked at my telescreen. Blue dots blinked out of existence one by one. A thick yellow band formed around Q-2.

Above me, an airborne behemoth floated over the battlefield and spat knightmares. Everything was simultaneous—the Resistance had maybe a minute between the cordon's appearance and the first airdrops. The Britannians shot anyone they caught loitering. Suzaku's white knightmare sped out of the Avalon like a bullet and skimmed the treeline. Every few seconds, it dove. The leaves above it grew bright from the muzzle flash of its energy cannon.

_Blink! Blink! Blink-blink-blink-blink- !_

And just like that, the guerrillas disappeared from my screen.

The Britannian dots clustered at the north end of the mountain. I jumped across the ridge and peered over, zooming my telescreen in for a closer look. Knightmares chopped logs and arranged them in _cheveaux de frise_ fortifications to skewer charging enemies. Others mined the major paths. The Avalon loomed over the operation, ready to disgorge more fighting men at a moment's notice or fry any Black Knight stupid enough to poke his head out.

_Clip….clop…._

A pebble bounced off my foot. I looked at it for a few seconds…

_TOO LONG! MOVE!_

I twisted out of the way just in time to avoid a saber swipe.

I silently cursed myself. _Of course! _Suzaku had sent probes out to round up civilians and send them to the camps. Something swished past my head. I dodged and danced out of the way until I was sure that I had all of my enemies in front of me.

Three knightmares.

Easy.

Lelouch once said that martial arts demonstrations were useless because people never attack one at a time. I love him dearly, but I'm afraid I have to disagree. Humans aren't Diclonii. They don't coordinate on the fly very well, and they're usually happy to wait for the other guy to go first.

This time, "the other guy" was the one on the right. He lunged. I dodged and nailed him with Rakshata's radiant wave surger. The knightmare exploded from the inside out.

_Two…_

I went after the second pilot before he had time to react. In a single movement, I grabbed the fallen sword and swung it in an arc that terminated somewhere beneath his escape pod's floor.

_One…_

The final Britannian pulled a rifle. He was too close. I grabbed the bisected knightmare and drove forward with it like a rugby player with a shield. The Britannian's wheels skipped across the rock, trying to find a grip to push back. The frantic scrabbling didn't help. I heaved, and both of us careened down the hill, like a triple decker knightmare sandwich with the Britannian at the bottom. When we finally scraped to a halt, my opponent was silent.

I crushed his cockpit to make sure.

* * *

The next few hours were spent in quiet anticipation. The Britannians had finished their camp. Hundreds of soldiers sat around campfire-less circles for mess, while their comrades patrolled the mountainside with night vision equipment. Every so often, I heard a _pop-pop-pop_ as Britannian ambush positions ran into their own patrols. Shoot-without-warning has its disadvantages.

Well, at least they weren't tripping over their own booby traps.

A group of wide-eyed, shivering men huddled together in a cage. Every ten minutes, a guard opened the gate and grabbed one. They kicked and screamed and were carted off just the same. Pragmatic as ever, the Britannians had set up mobile interrogation chambers at the far side of the camp.

I imagined Suzaku in his tent, bantering with Anya and Gino about what an easy job it was going to be. He had no time limits, a narrow front, control of the roads, and the bottomless coffers of the Reconstruction Commission to fix whatever he broke. He'd thrown the guerrillas back on their own resources now. They'd starve unless they tried a breakout.

It was just a matter of time.

A loudspeaker blared to my right, calling for the Black Knights to surrender peacefully. I heard a loud _pfoosh!_, like an air cannon being fired. The Avalon was dropping propaganda leaflets.

The mountain seethed beneath me. Five divisions, the entire strength of the Black Knights, waited under tons of excavated earth for the morning, when they would pour out like a swarm of wasps.

* * *

With the morning came the storm. The watchmen at the camp's gates barely had time to sound the alarm; the Black Knights cut them down where they stood. On my viewscreen, I saw the surging wave of knightmares envelop the Britannians and sweep them away. A masked figure appeared on the screen, and a voice with it:

"People of Japan! It's time to break lances at the final joust. Many have called the Rebellion finished—a lingering patient in an emergency ward waiting for the plug to be pulled. They say we don't have knightmares. They say we don't have manpower. They say we don't have…but enough of that! Look around you, Black Knights. We have enough. No army in the history of warfare ever went into battle with everything they thought they needed. And so….ONWARD!"

A cry went up along the Rebel line. Kallen's division tore into the Britannian left like a great fist and rolled them up like a piepan. Gino dashed from gap to gap, opening to opening, but everywhere he went the red knightmare met him and pushed him back. The Ace of the Elevens carved a circle with her radiant wave surger which no Britannian could enter and survive. Her hands clutched and snatched and clawed in their search for new victims, and she found them.

Contemptuously, the Avalon cast down hadron blasts like a vengeful god. The Black Knights' left flank withered and burned. Contemptuously, the Gawain replied with its own. The Avalon shuddered and reeled, reminding me of a whale in its death throes. The thing tumbled from the sky and sliced into the side of the mountain.

But the damage had been done. The Rebels' left flank pressed the Britannians chest to chest in a flurry of steel, but couldn't break them despite their numbers. I looked for Anya and wondered if she was the source of the trouble. But no—the Modred sat in its hangar uselessly, awaiting a pilot. Then I saw the Red Lion banner flutter in the Britannian ranks. The Notting Hill Regiment; Britannia's best. They died hard and grudgingly. The Rebels advanced at slow push-of-pike, but for every dead Britannian they left three of their own on the field. Cockpits flew away from the giant scrum thick and heavy, like dozens of fireworks. Gunfire shattered most of them.

I looked at the screen. The Britannian line bent inward like a horseshoe, fraying at the edges as pilots began the early stages of a rout. The Rebel line coiled like a black adder and prepared to deliver the final blow. I heard a shout from the Britannian line.

"Cornelia has arrived! Cornelia is here!"

It was true. Cornelia's Royal Guard hurtled toward the Black Knights' center in a triangular formation with their warrior princess at its head. I knew in that moment that she would punch through the Black Knights' center and go for Zero, like Alexander's Gaugamela reborn in electronics and steel. She speared Black Knights out of the way and left their broken knightmares for her men to finish off. Her laugh, electronically amplified, rang across the battlefield.

I wouldn't stop her.

Unlike Alexander, she'd gone too far, and this time Guilford wasn't there to pull her back from the abyss. A green light pulsed in her knightmare's chest. Her movements became sluggish, constricted, and then stopped completely.

"WHAT IS Happe—n—i—n—"

Her voice died on the wailing wind. Her once fearsome knightmare powered down, and its Gerfjun field dragged most of her guards down with her. The Britannian Goddess of Victory waited like a blind paraplegic for the final blow to fall.

She did not wait long. The Black Knights swarmed over her like starving rats. Within seconds, they reduced her knightmare's cockpit to shredded, bloody wreckage.

Take a wild guess who put the Gerfjun generator there.

The battlefield fell silent for a tenth of a second, and then a chorus of "NIPPON BANZAI!" broke out from the Black Knights. They plunged into the Britannian line, and everything was thrusting swords and dying shouts and the discharge of plasma rifles. And then…

A white flash.

A single white flash.

The Lancelot slid through an opening that no one else had seen. It was the picture of elegant precision, like a surgeon's scalpel excising a tumor. I watched from the hilltop as the final piece of the drama slid into place. Suzaku charged past Zero's guards and toward a command Guren that any Japanese child could recognize. And Kallen Kozuki, the Ace of the Elevens, Zero's right arm, the Terror of the Britannians…

…stepped aside.

The Lancelot's sword plunged through Zero's cockpit, and the sound of Lelouch's commanding voice finally went silent. The tide of battle turned for the final time. Without a moment's pause, the Lancelot turned from its fallen enemy and headed for Kallen.


	21. Turn 21: Lelouch

_Blind for two days. I just had to touch Shirley in the middle of a mind meld, didn't I?_

_I hear water clunk into the sink somewhere in the kitchen. The faucet's leaking…again. I grit my teeth and pretend that the sound isn't there. Unsuccessfully. I debate whether to stumble blindly to the kitchen or to wait until morning and let Shirley take care of it._

_Perhaps I'm just positioned awkwardly. I roll over onto my side and crunch into a ball, but the bed presses against my stomach and I feel my arm getting numb. Of course. It's probably one or two o'clock in the morning, but I can't see the alarm clock, for obvious reasons._

"_Of all the—"_

_My voice breaks off, and I feel my chest tighten at the injustice of it all. _

_No! Get a grip…._

_Clunk…_

_Clunk…._

_Clunk…_

_I claw at my sheets and yank them over my head. They come loose, and I feel a cold puff of air on my feet. _

"_AUGH!"_

_I aim several frantic kicks at the base of the bed that only manage to dislodge the covers further. One of my ankles strikes the bedpost, and I feel a sharp shock of pain. _

"_Great!" I shout, not caring that anyone might hear. "Brilliant, Lelouch! Blind AND stupid, eh? Cripple yourself more, why don't you?!"_

_Besides, Shirley's asleep in the basement, and the only other person in the house couldn't care less—_

_I feel a hand on my shoulder. As if on command, tension drains from the spot. _

"_Shirley…?"_

_A very different voice replies._

"_Hush," C.C. says. "Calm down and let me tuck your covers in again."_

"_I'm perfectly capable of taking care of it myself, witch."_

_Instead of answering, she walks to the edge of the bed. I hear the mattress springs creak as she folds them up and fits the sheets between them._

"_I said—"_

"_I know," she says. "Consider it a favor from an accomplice."_

_I curl up with my back to her so she can't see my all-too-readable face._

"_Why bother?" I snap. "Does it look like I'm in any state to repay you?"_

"_You'll recover," she says. Her voice carries more conviction than usual—doubtless from smug certainty rather than genuine emotion._

"_Well, that makes one of us who's convinced," I say. "Thanks and good night."_

_The sound of a chair being dragged along the carpet. Three light footsteps later, I can hear the rhythm of her breathing as she sits a foot away from my bed._

"_You're still here," I say._

"_I wanted the company."_

"_So the antisocial witch wants company," I snort. "There's a first."_

_She sighs. _

"_I can tell you another story if you like," she says._

"_You're joking."_

"_Do I strike you as a particularly humorous person?"_

_I shrug, squeezing as much disinterest into the gesture as I can._

"_Fine," I say. "Why not? I could use the background noise to drown out the stupid tapwater."_

_A second or two of silence follows, save for C.C.'s breathing and my mattress's squeaks. Then C.C. begins her story._

"_Once upon a time…"_

_

* * *

_

_Mommy's dead, dead, dead. Like the hangman on television says._

"…_There was a sad little prince," my governess says. "And one day, a terrible thing happened."_

_I look up through teary eyes. I'm still shaking, and the insides of my robes stick to my skin thanks to my mother's dried blood. For the first time, the glow of candlelight seems harsh, like electric lamps turned on full power._

"_D…did h-he get better, C.C.?" I ask. _

_She looks away. Her yellow eyes focus on a maid standing a few feet away from us._

"_C.C.?"  
_

"_I…mmm?" _

_She shakes her head as if clearing it and turns back to me. I feel her arms wrap me a bit more tightly._

"_Oh yes," she says. "He got…better. The little prince's parents called for a wizard, the greatest in the land. And he waved his magical wand of forgetfulness…"_

_A vague feeling of protest gnaws me._

"_Forgetfulness?" I ask._

"_Forgetfulness," she says. "And just like that, the little prince forgot the fact that he brought the dragon into the palace, and he only remembered the good times."_

"_But…but what about everybody else?" I say._

_C.C. raises an eyebrow._

"_I'm not sure what you mean," she says. _

_She's lying. This is the first time I've caught her lying. Her too-obvious eye contact gives her away._

"_What about his family and friends and stuff?" I ask. "He remembered __them__, right? He did, didn't he?"_

_C.C. sighs and ruffles my hair while her other hand caresses my face. It slides quickly over my cheeks because of the tears. Again, my governess looks away._

"_Most of them," she says._

_

* * *

  
_

"GAAH!!"

I bolted upright and became aware of painful throbbing in my head. Nausea, too. Someone had stuck me in a white room with glaring light. I squinted, and the shape of lacy curtains took shape. Voices spoke somewhere outside.

"But…but Your Majesty, he still has a concussion!"

Suzaku. Had to be Suzaku.

"Please, Kururugi. Your concern is noted, but this will only take a moment."

I shot out of bed as soon as I heard that voice, but my knees buckled. My arms arrested my fall just in time, and I shakily lowered myself back into bed.

"Begging Your Majesty's pardon, but how could _Lelouch _be Zero? He—I mean—Zero killed Lelouch's _sister_, Prince Schneizel! This is ins--"

"Suzaku, I'm touched by your loyalty, but please step aside."

The voice sounded so _patient_, so _reasonable_. I scowled and propped myself up to face the music in as much style as I could muster.

"Your Majesty, he was on the Avalon when Zero got killed. I can't—"

"You don't have to," Schneizel said. "Guards?"

There was no sound of a scuffle, so I guess Kururugi went quietly. Good. He had enough trouble on his plate without me adding to it. The door clicked, and a crowd of men dressed in purple silk and frilly cravats stepped through. The room became hot and stuffy. Ever the showman, Schneizel walked in last.

I did what I could to ruin the scene.

"'Sup, bro?" I said.

Schneizel frowned.

"Your humor is not appreciated, under the circumstances. In case you're wondering, these gentlemen are—"

"—Two dozen of the most powerful noblemen in Britannia," I finished. "Nice of you to bring them here to watch my victory."

My brother graced me with a good-natured chuckle. I felt my fingers tense.

"Lelouch, this is your last chance," he said. "You can still come out of this in one piece if you confess."

"Not on your life."

He looked at me with the air of a reproving teacher scolding the school bully.

"It's _your_ life that's on the line, Lelouch. Take off the contact lens."

You have no idea how badly I wanted to take him up on his offer and geass him, which is exactly why I didn't. Somehow—I didn't know how—he must have developed countermeasures. Or maybe he was just bluffing. Or maybe he _wanted_ me to think he was just bluffing. Or maybe…

You see my dilemma. I smirked and tried to look amused.

"So," I said. "Still chasing evil eyes, brother? Where's Cornelia?"

Schneizel's face was impassive.

"Dead, as if you didn't know."

"I didn't."

His upper lip twitched slightly.

"Don't bother pretending you're upset," he said.

"I won't, because I'm not."

His eyes narrowed, but only for a moment. With machine-like precision, he slowly _e…x…h…a…l…e…d_.

"Thank you for making this easy for me," he said.

Schneizel turned to the guards, who looked at one another uncertainly. They must have known what was coming.

"Hold him down," Schneizel said.

I knew better than to bluster or fight, especially with the cavalcade of Britannian nobility watching me. I could only delay. Concussed as I was, I'm proud to say that I came up with a pretty logical objection.

"Don't you think you should check Zero's body first?"

The guards stopped. Schneizel waved them forward again.

"Some poor idiot you geassed, no doubt," he said. "Don't take me for an idiot."

Strong hands gripped my right arm. I tried to kick away and found my legs pinned to the bed. With my free hand, I reached for my phone and tried to call Gino's number. Maybe he'd—

The guard slapped it out of my hand. It clattered to the floor. I shut my eyelids, but they were forced open. A pair of dirty fingers jabbed me in the eye and scratched the mucosy surface until Schneizel was sure I wasn't hiding anything there. Then they moved onto the other eye. I kicked and tried to twist out of their grip.

"I'll have you hanged for this! D'you hear me, Schneizel?! I'll flay you alive and feed you to the dogs! I'll—"

He chuckled again.

"Go on," he said. "I'm taking notes."

The man above me clamped his arms around my head until I couldn't shy away. I saw dirty fingers and a bright light that reminded me of my time in the dentist's chair. Then the finger blocked the light.

"I wonder," Schneizel said. "Did you think it would end like this when—"

"Schneizel, ENOUGH!"

The finger stopped. The clip-clop of boots on a linoleum floor—one of the sweetest sounds I've ever heard—interrupted my brother's musings. The grips on my hands and feet loosened, but not enough that I could do anything about it. My gaze stayed riveted to the ceiling. Somewhere in front of me, Schneizel's robe fluttered as he turned around. His voice became stern.

"Kururugi, what you're doing borders on mutiny. Stand down this instant or I will be forced to initiate proceedings against you. And believe me; I will be only too happy to do so."

"He's not Zero!" Suzaku shouted.

From Schneizel's reply, I guessed that he was clenching his teeth.

"Suzaku, we've been over this before—"

"I saw Zero's body. His eyes had a geass sigil on them just like you said, Your Majesty," Suzaku said.

Total silence. Then—

"_Excuse _me?"

Suzaku's voice wavered a bit...but only a bit.

"Markings, Your Majesty. We think he was Chinese, which makes perfect sense if you think about it. The guys at Pinkerton Branch're running an identity trace as we speak."

I was still pointed at the ceiling, so I regret to say that I didn't see my brother's face when Suzaku told him the news. Far be it from me to let it go, though.

"HA!" I shouted. "HA! HA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

As soon as the guards let me go, I sat up and grinned at Schneizel with a look of undisguised triumph. The noblemen around me wouldn't meet my eyes.

_Oh yes_, I thought. _I'll remember __all__ of you._

I took a deep breath and drank in the victory.

"Now get out, you son of a bitch."

Schneizel managed a rueful smile, bowed, and left.

* * *

Suzaku had driven the Black Knights against the mountains. I saw them when my jeep crested a hill, and almost wished I hadn't. The organization—_my_ organization, if you really think about it—had been reduced to wreckage. The broken remnant of the army that nearly reconquered Japan stood shoulder to shoulder in a phalanx. Britannian knightmares were strewed around them, but how few remained….

We continued until we reached the Japanese lines. The drivers cast skittish looks at the wall of gunbarrels and blades. Taking the hint, I told them they were free to go and hopped out without another word. The ground yielded and oozed around my boots. I tried to pull myself out. Couldn't.

"A little help?"

The Japanese line parted and a red knightmare stepped through the gap. For the first time I can remember, I wondered why it didn't sink into the mud like I had. Come to think of it, the physics of knightmare combat in general…

The knightmare opened its cockpit, and a certain fiery redhead in a black jacket and miniskirt stepped confidently out. I shrugged. Some questions just aren't that important. For the briefest of moments, I wanted to rush up and hug her—an urge I'm _very_ happy to say I don't get very often.

When I saw her expression, my mood did a nosedive.

"It took you too long," she said.

Kallen made a none-too-subtle nod at the Black Knights' depleted ranks.

"I was unconscious," I said. "Somebody shot down the Avalon."

"Oh."

"You're okay too, I see."

"Yeah."

"That's…good."

"Yeah."

Sad to say, our tender reunion got interrupted by a certain opium-smoking genius before it blossomed into bisyllables.

"He_lllloooooooo_ Lelouch."

At times like this, I'd learned to roll with it. I dipped my head slightly.

"Hey, Rakshata. Thanks for the antidote, by the way. Worked like a charm."

She took a long draw on her pipe and smiled like a satisfied kitten. Odd, considering the circumstances…but then, so was Rakshata. She wrapped her arms around Kallen's neck and leaned against her shoulder.

"If I'm not mistaken, this is where it's customary to lay down terms," she said.

"Quite," I said.

With an almighty _slurp_, I heaved my foot out of the mud. It stuck in another hole as soon as I put it down.

"Um…I'd _really_ appreciate a hand right about now…"

Kallen leaned against a smashed knightmare frame. Her body stayed rigid. If anything, the support made her look less comfortable.

"Just name your terms," she said.

I tried to meet her eyes, but she tilted her head away.

"Kallen, are you—"

"No, Lelouch, I'm not. Let's not have this conversation now, OK?"

I looked down kneaded one of my shoes deeper into the mud. My hands slid behind my back in an imitation of relaxed nonchalance, but my uneven foot placement didn't let me pull it off.

Yep. _Definitely_ the foot placement.

"Mao's death is going to be a serious embarrassment to the Chinese government, especially with my 'upcoming marriage'"—I made little quotation marks with my fingers—"to Tianzi. They'll withdraw support from their puppets in Kyushu. Which means—"

"We're screwed," Kallen finished. "You screwed us all over and killed your sister for nothing."

Her face was like stone. I held out my palms defensively.

"Calm down, please. Seriously, Kallen….d'you think I was _planning_ to get shot down?"

An odd look spread over her face. Crap. One more conspiracy theory planted.

"…I wasn't," I said quickly.

"Get to the point, Lelouch."

"I've squeezed the Chinese government for concessions. They're giving me Hong Kong as a marriage gift, and I'm declaring it an independent nation outside of Britannian control. The Japanese government-in-exile and the Black Knights'll share dual control until you guys figure out a constitution."

Kallen's crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Yeah, wonderful," she said. "A nation without people."

"I'm granting visas to any Japanese who want to leave."

Her eyes widened.

"How can you get away with _that_?!"

I smirked and waved my hand.

"I call it the Subversive Exile Act," I said. "How's that for spin?"

Rakshata leaned next to Kallen and whispered none-too-quietly in her ear.

"See, this is why I stayed away from the social sciences," she said.

"Something you want to tell the class, Rakshata?"

She cocked an eyebrow at me.

"What about India?" she asked.

"It's a long term project," I said.

Rakshata's face fell. I'll say this for her, though: she hid it well. Her nonchalant mask returned…almost. Her lips pursed and eyes drifted downward as if she was steeling herself for something.

"You're leaving the Black Knights, aren't you?" I said.

For the last time, I saw her lips curl into that haughty smile.

"_Meri __Jhansi__ nahin dungee_," she said. "I will not give up my Jhansi. You're familiar with the reference?"

I smiled.

"_Phir milenge_, little Rani," I said.

Rakshata shrugged and took another long drag on her pipe.

"Somehow I doubt it, _Maharaj Kumar_."

She was right, by the way. Rakshata went back to India and led her own rebellion, complete with enough souped-up knightmares to bring down an army. Not the Chinese army, though. The last I heard of my erstwhile gadgeteer genius was that they'd stuck her in a prison camp on the Chinese mainland. After the Cultural Revolution…who knows?

* * *

Nine hours and a crippling amount of jetlag later, I stood in a freezing throne room. I shivered—from the cold, I told myself. Yes, definitely the cold. This was completely, totally unrelated to my near-execution seven years ago when I'd been stupid enough to call my father out. The place seemed darker now, but not smaller; someone had turned off most of the lights, and I strained my eyes in vain to see the Rococo cherubs-and-clouds scene on the ceiling. It was just a black hole.

"F-Father?"

My breath froze into a little cloud. I hugged my body as tightly as I could without making it obvious. Dad hated weakness. That much, I remembered. Apparently, he also hated paying the electric bill. A voice boomed out from the shadow in the pit of the throne.

"Come here."

Well, well...didn't mince words, did he? I walked across the floor in stutter steps thanks to the cold. Unlike a certain Emperor, I didn't have three layers of protective blubber. Echoes from my footsteps bounced across the room, which was easily the size of a football stadium. Fifty-foot banners flanked my long walk on either side. They all showed the same thing: Britannia's lion and viper entwined in their eternal struggle against a blue field. When I was a child, the symbol had always struck me as a strange: deadly combat in a void. No food, no other animals, no territory existed to give rise to the conflict, yet there they were. The banners hung frozen, still; as if the breeze had never blown them.

My heart sank when I saw V.V. beside the throne.

"That's close enough," Dad said. "I won't give you the opportunity to use your geass."

_Shit..._

I struggled to keep my voice steady and appeasing at the same time.

"What do you want of me, Father?"

The man-mountain sat impassively, like--cliche though it is, I swear it's true--a living statue. He let me shiver for a few moments before he replied.

"Explain yourself," he said.

"How can I--"

"You have three minutes," V.V. added with a grotesquely cute smile.

A deep breath wouldn't have helped; not with the subzero temperatures. Irony of ironies, I closed my eyes and ran through the first thing Father ever taught me: Morphy versus Steinitz, Vienna, 1868. I crossed my hands behind my back and raised my chin in a gesture of confidence I knew I didn't feel.

And then?

Then I told the biggest whopper of a long, deceitful career.

"Isn't it obvious, Father? I planned it all from the beginning."

Was that a twitch at the corner of his mouth, or just the shadows playing with me?

"Go on," he said.

"Very well," I said.

I debated whether to start pacing. Better not. There's a fine line between confidence and arrogance.

"As you know, I started this scheme without any assets aside from Lucy and a low-to-moderate ranking in the succession. To succeed the throne, I needed three things: royal favor, dead siblings, and--well, scratch that. Actually, I just needed the two things. Unfortunately, Clovis had the Viceroyship. What to do?"

"I'll thank you to tell your story _without_ the pseudo-dramatic footnotes--"

To my surprise, Dad interrupted the little troll.

"No, big brother...let him tell it his own way."

V.V. gave his "little" brother an indignant huff and piped down.

"As I was saying," I said, "Clovis had the Viceroyship, but he was getting harassed by terrorists. Not much--"

I shrugged melodramatically.

"--Just enough to be a nuisance. I wanted to turn Japan into a power base against Schneizel, but there was no way you'd appoint me Viceroy. I needed a political post, and for that...I needed Clovis to need me."

"So you created the Black Knights," Dad said.

I thought I could detect just a _trace _of interest in his voice, but I didn't get my hopes up.

"Yes," I said. "I used the Rebellion to cover up the growth of the nonviolent resistance movement. Every brutality that the Britannian military committed just made it that much easier to convince the Elevens to disobey. In the meantime, I could stand on the sidelines until Clovis and Cornelia made Area Eleven ungovernable. Then I could step in and take over. Unfortunately, Euphie's Special Administrative Zone moved events too quickly."

"You had her killed."

It was a statement, not a question. I nodded.

"Correct. Euphie was the perfect martyr. The Massacre gave me an excuse to attack Zero directly without looking like I was anti-Japanese, and it drove Cornelia into berserker mode."

"...Which made _you_ look much more appealing by comparison to the Japanese--excuse me, Elevens," V.V. said.

"Right. And now, thanks to Narita, I've removed Cornelia and avoided suspicion from Schneizel at the same time."

Dad's voice became stern again.

"And what makes you think you'll get away with this?" he bellowed.

I shrugged.

"Call it a hunch," I said. "After all, Father...isn't this what you wanted? For your children to claw at each other's throats until one stepped out from the wreckage victorious? Well, here I am, Father. It's just me and Schneizel now. I've even arranged a marriage with Tianzi, so I'll have a power base in Asia when that day comes--may it be indefinitely postponed, Dear Father--when one of us will have to succeed the throne."

"Don't think your sarcasm escapes my notice," he said.

A long pause followed, and then he laughed.

"You _are_ my son, aren't you? Ha! I was right not to exile you during that outburst seven years ago! Ha!...A chip off the old block..."

His voice trailed off, and I wondered if I heard the tinge of regret there. I doubt it. In fact, I wouldn't include it at all if it wasn't for...No, never mind. It's stupid. And anyway, Dad showed his true colors soon enough.

"Did you catch all that, Kururugi?" he said.

My stomach lurched as the last person on Earth I wanted to hear that speech stepped from behind a column. His head hung limply, and I was almost glad that shadows covered his eyes. I didn't want to see them.

"I...I _defended_ you," he said. "You piece of shit, your own sister! You killed your own SISTER!"

I stared at him, slack jawed while my father laughed. I had to say _something_, but the words died before they left my throat.

"Suzaku, I..."

"You didn't think I'd allow you to infiltrate a friend into the Knight of Rounds without breaking you up, did you?" Dad said. "Come now, Lelouch! You think I'm stupid enough to fall for the same trick your mother and I played on Frederick? Ha! Arrogant boy!"

Too late now. What's one more painful lie, more or less? I affected an offhand sigh and opened my palm in an "oh well," gesture.

"Sorry, Kururugi," I said. "Reasons of state, you know..."

"You _bastard_!"

I twisted my face into a sneer. It was easy to look disgusted--at myself, if only he knew.

"Considering our audience, you might want to reconsider your choice of insults," I said.

Suzaku reeled and tensed as if he was going to strike me. He took a shaky breath. When he spoke again, he was calm.

"Lelouch, I really, _really_ hope you're plotting against Britannia....because the moment you show your hand, I'm gonna treat you the same way you tricked me into treating my own people."

I rolled my eyes.

"Hmph! A threat?"

"A promise," he replied.

With painstaking precision, he bowed to my father and stalked from the room. I looked at the evil son of a bitch on his throne and bit back the urge to leap at him and tear him to shreds.

"That was...interesting," I said. "Well played. Anything else, Father?"

He grinned again. That sick, predatory grin.

"I want C.C."

_No choice..._

"Done," I said. "I want Area Eleven."

"Done," he said. "Congratulations, _Viceroy_."

I bowed deeply and turned to go.

"One moment, Lelouch."

I turned back and gave him a toadying smile.

"Yes, Father?"

"Shall I tell you why you're doing this, my son? What your motivation is?" he said.

_Feed him to ants...No! Boil him in oil...No, too good for him. Electrocution...yes, electrocution. For weeks, and weeks and--_

"I'm all ears, Father."

"You're spinning your wheels, boy. You don't have the guts to work outside the system or the idealism to imagine a better world like a true visionary could. Do you know what you are? You're a machine. A flesh-and-blood marionette who's dancing to the only tune he's ever known. The only one his upbringing prepared him for. Why? Because you can't do anything else. Think about _that_, son."

"I--"

"This interview is over," he said. "Good day, Viceroy."

I walked across the longest hallway of my life and closed the door behind me. My body shook like a leaf, and I couldn't pretend any longer that it was from the cold.

* * *

_**FROM THE FILES OF PINKERTON BRANCH**_

_Ruben,_

_Alea lacta est, if you know what I mean. Burn this note._

_--Lelouch_


	22. Turn 22: Lelouch

**Chapter 22: Lelouch**

**

* * *

  
**

**_TO READ IN FIVE YEARS:_**

_Lucy,_

_When you read this, you'll laugh at me. I know you will. Or maybe you'll just hate me forever. I'd settle for either, really. _

_I had a choice in Shinjuku. _

_Kallen—you know, the thorn in my side, the needle under my skin, __that__ Kallen—was ready to go. I could have ended it so easily, since Suzaku HAD the stupid bitch, and all I had to do was stand aside. I didn't even need to do the job myself. But no. Nope! Yours Truly fired her hadron cannon and knocked the Lancelot out. _

_Yeah, that's right: I just saved the other woman. No wonder I have trouble getting guys. Maybe someday I'll figure out why I did it._

…_Somebody shoot me._

_I hope this letter finds you well…not that I'm keeping my hopes up or anything._

_Love,_

_Lucy_

_

* * *

  
_

The door squealed on its hinges as I opened it—one of the few occasions where I would have preferred silence to dramatic sound effects. A shaft of light appeared on the floor. It broadened when I swung the door open, and the shadows fled before the beam. The teak figurines on the banisters seemed to beckon to me. Even Nunnally's oil painting appeared to leer through crooked teeth.

_Kaclickkaclick!_

Crap. The lights didn't work. I raised my flashlight and discovered the source of the problem: Someone had pulled out the lightbulbs.

"C.C.?"

No answer. I tiptoed to the guest bedroom and tried to ignore the floorboards' groans. With superstition born of unease, I made a silent pact with the powers-that-be: As long as I pretended that I couldn't hear the noise, nobody else could either.

Something cold and hard pressed against the back of my skull.

(Hint: Not a frozen fish)

"Drop it, Lelouch."

I did a rapid calculation and made the wrong choice.

"Er…no?"

C.C.'s grabbed my hand, and I had two tenths of a second to reflect that she seemed a _lot_ stronger than Schneizel's goons from the hospital. Then the sharp pain in my wrist drove everything from my mind. She contorted it until my arm, elbow and shoulder locked. The nerve endings that ran across my elbow tingled and went numb. It felt as brittle as chalk. A little twist and the whole thing would snap.

My pistol thumped obediently to the floor.

"Good," she said.

The pain stopped, and I massaged my burning joints.

"Can I sit—"

"No," she said. "You'll stay where you are."

"Ah…"

I tried to turn around to see the look on her face—as if I could have read it anyway—but she shoved my face forward again. I kept my eyes on the ceiling after that.

"So…" I said.

"So," she said.

"Okay, C.C., what's the deal?"

Her voice was totally deadpan when she answered. I couldn't have interpreted the tone if I'd wanted to, but her hand twitched.

"You're armed," she said.

I take back what I said earlier: C.C. _could_ squeeze a lot of meaning into a few words.

"I couldn't rely on you to come peacefully," I said. "Apparently, I guessed right."

"Apparently."

"V.V. must have told you," I added. "Clever little twerp. So...are you coming, or what?"

"You're giving me to Charles?" she said.

_Do I hear an undertone of accusation…?_

"Change of plans," I said. "Corny as it sounds, I'm here to save you."

Another twitch.

"Forgive me if I'm not convinced," she said.

"As we speak, five divisions from Floridashire and New York are marching toward Pendragon," I said. "Baron Luttwitz is commanding them. You know him?"

Silence. She must have nodded and not realized that I couldn't see her. The alternative—that the witch was lost for words—was unthinkable.

"Ashford's friend," she whispered. "A reformer."

"Correct," I said. "In an hour, Britannia's air defense system will go down thanks to the efforts of a couple of geassed employees. Then Kallen's knightmares'll pour in from the Californian coast."

"A coup?"

For the first time in our relationship, I _knew_ I heard a note of genuine surprise in her voice. I resisted the urge to point it out.

"Yeah, C.C. A coup."

"But… why? You have the Viceroyalty, don't you?"

My head was still pointing to the crystal facets of the chandelier instead of my intended target, but I sighed theatrically and shook my head just the same.

"Dear, dear C.C….you _really_ need to start trusting me. You think I was lying when I told you that I take care of my accomplices?"

She laughed—once, and humorlessly.

"You're doing this for _me_?" she said. "You really expect me to believe that?"

"You know what, C.C.?" I said. "Believe it or not, I don't intend to crawl over your body to the throne. You're my…I consider you…er…hmm…You're one of the people who're close to me, I suppose."

"Stirring endorsement right there," she said.

"Yeah, well…I'm not the most affectionate guy in the world, in case you haven't noticed."

The pressure on my head softened, and I felt the gun barrel slide away.

"I've noticed," she said.

C.C. sauntered over to the couch and curled up on it. She stretched her arms like a relaxed cat. And then, she gave a gentle _s…i…g…h…_

"So after all that, the evil prince turns out to be an idealist," she said.

I fluffed the pillow on the chair next to her and sat down.

"Hardly," I said. "If I was an idealist, I'd sacrifice you for the greater good along with the rest. If you think about it, I'm actually selling out millions of people on a high-risk gamble for the sake of a friend."

"I suppose."

She graced me with a teasing smirk and tapped a fingernail on her lips.

"What'll you do when you become Emperor, I wonder…?" she said.

"Drop the act, C.C."

"What's that supposed to—"

I flicked the desklamp on and turned it on her. Fortunately, she'd missed it during her lightbulb-confiscation binge.

"You never intended to shoot me," I said. "You were just trying to make the handover convincing. And your 'I'm so happy for you' act isn't fooling me either."

C.C.'s smile got faker by the minute.

"You think I _want_ to be handed over?" she said.

"I know what the four of you are up to, C.C."

The gunbarrel rose again until it pointed at my chest. She pulled back the hammer.

"I'm listening," she said.

I struggled to suppress a surge of fear. I didn't expect her to use violence, but…well, I didn't _know _her, did I? Trying to extrapolate patterns of behavior from a walking manikin was a shot in the dark. (Unfortunate choice of words, that).

"You, Dad, V.V. and Mom are planning some kind of doomsday scenario," I said. "Gods only know how Mom survived getting decapitated seven years back, but the alternative—that you're schizophrenic—is even less likely. And believe me, I'm going to have a looooong talk with—"

"How do you know this?"

I sat back with a self-satisfied smirk.

"C.C., you're talking to a guy whose response to monsters under his bed was to rig his bedroom with pressure switches."

She tilted her head slightly upward and to one side. The light fell on her left cheek. I found myself taking a second look, and soon realized why: until that moment, I hadn't realized that C.C. had light freckles.

"I remember," she said.

Interesting. That pushed the timeline for our relationship back before my second birthday. I pointed at the wall before she realized her error.

"Take a look behind the panels," I said.

She brought her pistol butt down hard against the beam I'd indicated. I heard a hollow crack, and the thing splintered inward. Wires peeked through the hole--wires that didn't lead to any electrical sockets. C.C. gave me a look that _might_ have been disapproval.

"You had me bugged?"

"And video recorded," I said, pointing to the security camera hidden in the clock. "Your one-way conversations with Mom are interesting listening."

She lowered herself back into a seat with just a trace of caution, gingerly, as if she was expecting the chair to fold up on her.

"Then you know what I'm after," she said.

I shook my head.

"No. I know what you _think_ you're after."

Her eyebrows knitted. She crossed her arms over her legs and leaned forward in her seat.

"I'm not in the mood to play word games, so I'll spell it out. I want to die, Lelouch. Your father promised me that. And it seems I've caught you at a crucial point in your plans, so let's cut to the chase: Either you'll give me what I want, or I'll go to Charles and get it anyway...except that he'll kill you first."

I scratched the chair's arm rest in a display of calm that I didn't feel. Was it possible that…?

Yes. It was. I wasn't sure exactly what Dad was planning, but it involved manipulating some sort of collective unconscious—an entity which allowed him to talk to Clovis. And possibly Mom. Under those circumstances, killing me would mean little to my green-haired accomplice. Lelouch's dead? No problem. Just talk to him through your doomsday voodoo machine. A voice in my head screamed _Tread Carefully_ at the top of its lungs. Too little, too late.

"I'm waiting," she said.

She bounced the muzzle against the glass coffee table. It made a _drrrrrrrrrit_ sound until it stopped vibrating. And so, stuck between a rock and a hard place, I fell back on my standard operating procedure: the unexpected. I jumped from my chair and raised my voice as loudly as I dared.

"Why?!"

Her eyes widened for a quarter of a fifth of a tenth of a second. Still better than nothing.

"The purpose of life is to die," she said. "A life without death is meaningless. It lacks an end, a _telos_."

"Cute rationalization," I shot back. "Now who's playing word games?"

She shrugged and lay back, still carefully keeping the pistol trained on me.

"Nevertheless, it's the truth," she said.

"_Your_ truth, maybe."

C.C. rubbed her forehead and sighed.

"Let's leave the social construction of reality for another day, shall we? I find postmodernism tedious."

I shrugged.

"Suits me. I just figured we'd get our quota of pseudointellectual gobbledegook out of the way before we start the serious stuff."

C.C. raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" she said.

Again, I shrugged.

"I dunno. Just something we're expected to do, I guess."

She gave me a _get on with it_ look, so I did.

"You're a lot more human than you like to admit," I said. "You know what your condition's called? Depression. Not some grand metaphysical drive toward Aristotelian end-state philosophy, and _definitely_ not an existential issue unique to immortals."

C.C. rolled her eyes. Her head rested on one of her palms, which covered her mouth enough that her answer came out in a mumble.

"How quick and convenient," she said.

"Correct answers usually are. Much as I'd prefer otherwise, the world isn't built around drama."

"…Says a man who keeps a tub of valium behind his bathroom mirror," she said.

"How did you—" I began.

I took a deep breath.

"Yeah," I said. "Fine. You got me. Life sucks sometimes. You still don't see me offing myself, do you?"

"At the rate you're going, you'll be the only person _left_ in a couple months," she said.

I was still standing over her. A spot on the couch next to her was open. Subtlety would backfire and look like manipulation, so I very slowly and deliberately sat down beside her.

"C.C., is dying really worth the entire world?"

She wouldn't meet my eyes, but her face was like stone as she stared at her reflection on the table.

"My offer hasn't changed," she said. "If you want to save the world and beat your father, you'll have to do it over my dead body."

Then a very strange thing happened. My arm shook, and I didn't bother hiding it. I slammed a fist on the table and stomped into kitchen, looking for something to hit. The plates seemed to laugh at me. I smashed three of them on the floor. Pieces of porcelain scattered.

Twenty seconds later, I found myself staring at the floor, breathing heavily and wondering what had happened.

_Oh…_

I'd lost control when I hadn't planned to.

I took another breath. Still a bit jagged, but better than earlier. My hair felt out of place. I looked at myself in one of the saucepans and straightened it. A few seconds later, a calmer, more calculating Lelouch stepped out again. I even managed to hide my embarrassment.

"You're blushing," she said.

Okay, fine. So I'm not perfect.

"I accept your offer," I said.

"You…what?"

I clapped my hands and rubbed them together impatiently.

"You heard me. Rev up the ectoplasm or whatever."

I saw her shudder briefly, but it was probably from the Code activation.

"As…you wish," she said.

An omega-shaped semicircle of light appeared on her forehead. Her eyes glowed. Under her black dress, I saw her arms and legs pulse as something flowed through them. C.C.'s voice sounded detached, as if she was concentrating on something else.

"Take my hand," she said.

I did. The room melted. In its place, a white void appeared. I looked down and saw that I was naked and colorless, like an artist's sketch. C.C. looked the same.

"Well, this is interesting…"

"Are you ready?" she said.

Her voice echoed from a thousand invisible walls around us. Some of the reverberations felt like whispers and others like shouts, but all of them carried incredible weariness.

"Nope," I said.

Her shoulders tensed, and she glared at me.

"Is this a joke?"

I crossed my arms behind my back and paced around her. Regrettably, some of the effect was lost because of the nudity.

"Here's the deal, C.C….As far as I know, immortality sounds like a blast. I mean, come on. Who wouldn't want to stay young forever?"

C.C. replied through gritted teeth.

"If you feel that way, then I'm sure you'll enjoy the trip. Now if you _don't mind…_"

I held my hand out.

"Don't rush me. Aren't immortals supposed to have a little patience? Anyway, something occurred to me: maybe immortality isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Brilliant deduction," she said, deadpan.

"…So you're going to have to sell it to me," I finished.

"Excuse me?"

I stretched my arms in front of my body and gestured to the void.

"You know, sell it. Show me that it's all it's cracked up to be. Come on, C.C. There's got to be _some_ moment in your life you enjoyed?"

"I…This is insane."

I stopped pacing and looked her in the eyes.

"Give me access to your memories," I said.

"No."

The reply was flat, and instant.

"What do you care?" I said. "You'll be dead in a couple minutes anyway."

I heard an intake of breath, softened at the last moment. A chill passed across my body as the void grew cold.

"I could always go to Charles," she said.

"You're stalling, witch."

She looked at the floor—that is to say, the section of white space that our feet rested on.

"What do you want to see, Lelouch?"

"Something happy."

Colored lines shimmered across the void like light passing through agitated water.

"…And recent," I added. "Don't try to con me with your senior prom in 1673."

C.C. shot me a disapproving look, then stretched her arms out as if parting a veil.

"Oh, and some clothes."

A student's uniform and C.C.'s black dress materialized on us. I heard a giant key turning in a lock. A moment later, we stood next to a green-haired woman and a baby. I looked around. A black-and-silver unicorn tapestry hung behind her, flapping every so often from a vent on the floor. The corridors flickered with muted candle light. I heard a rustle of silk, and noticed the baby's eyes.

"Pendragon palace, eh? Is that…?"

"You were much cuter when you were young," she said.

"And whose fault is—"

I stopped when I saw her expression. Her face fell, and I realized that finally, after long, long months of prodding, I'd hit a nerve.

"…Never mind," I said.

I turned my attention to the girl in the chair. She bounced the baby up and down on her knee and sang "Auld Lang Syne" in the purest voice I'd ever heard. He—I—giggled and sputtered. Personally, I've always found babies a little repulsive. Watching the look of joy on my fat little face didn't change my opinion. I looked like a (slightly) slobberier version of Winston Churchill. The girl—C.C.--didn't seem to mind, though. She smiled ever so slightly and wiped the saliva from the baby's mouth.

"Singing lessons?" I asked.

C.C.'s eyes seemed to be glazed over as she watched the scene. When I spoke, she gave a little start.

"Huh? Oh…I trained with Anna Renzi."

I whistled approvingly. Her attention drifted back to the scene. Just as well, because I was looking for something. If this was C.C.'s mind and I was her—what? Accomplice? Contract-holder?—then it should have been navigable. I opened my mind and searched for the underlying structure of the place. I let myself drift past a swirl of glowing particles and colored wires. A stream of light flowed past me. I dipped my hand into it and felt an overwhelming desire to tear my eyes out. I withdrew it quickly. So…these were the channels of her emotions. Another stream gave me a bitter taste in my mouth, but I felt a trace of something else. Not self-hatred, or even sadness. Longing.

Then I found what I was looking for: a single golden thread. It was thin, but tough and strong, and it stretched so far into the recesses of the void that I couldn't see the end of it. I tugged it, and felt something yank at my chest. I flew across the void as if I was a fish at the end of a reel being pulled across a starlit pond. (Poetic, eh?)

I arrived in a smoky hovel illuminated by rushlights. Straw on the floor crinkled under my feet. A bed sat in one corner, barely more than a straw-stuffed mattress. On it laid a girl whose hair fell in sweaty clumps across her face. Blood covered the mattress. She breathed rapidly but softly, as if the worst was over. A chamber-bucket sat by the bedside. Seven or eight other women huddled around the girl.

C.C. appeared beside me.

"Ugh," I said. "People actually _lived_ like this? This is much nastier than I thought."

I turned to her and saw stress lines that could have come from anger or fear. Her voice betrayed a little of each.

"How did you know about this?" she demanded.

I put my hands in my pockets, rocking back and forth on my heels in a studied picture of nonchalance.

"You forget that I had training as a historian," I said. "I saw enough in your memories during the mind meld to track you through the witch-hunting judicial records."

She shot me an angry look. I laughed.

"Catherine Charpentier," I said. "Executed 1603 in Lorraine after trying to flee the authorities. After all that blather about snow and forgetting your name, it turns out that you used your initials after all."

C.C.'s eyes widened like saucers when I called her by that name. I pointed to the green-haired woman on the bed.

"Oh, and you had a son, apparently."

C.C. turned to leave, but I caught her wrist. This wasn't the real world—I didn't need to worry about getting my arm broken. She stopped struggling after a few seconds.

"Please let me go, Lelouch."

I could hear cracks appearing in her voice.

"No."

She glared at me and looked away. I took the opportunity to watch her unwashed-but-happy adopted family tickle the newborn baby. I felt a wave of remorse when I realized why I found it so appealing: _My_ family had never acted this way.

It took a while. Finally, the babble of voices drew C.C. in like a magnet. She turned to watch—first her head, then the rest of her, until she was crouching within an inch of the bed, watching her newborn son. I looked from C.C. to her smiling, exhausted doppelganger on the bed, and back again.

"You looked beautiful," I said.

Her shoulders rose and fell once, as if she'd laughed. She smiled at me. Not a smirk, or some halfhearted sarcastic twitch of the mouth. For the first time I'd known her, she genuinely, unambiguously smiled at me.

"I did look beautiful," she agreed.

I leaned against the wall and let her watch the memory. Her eyes lost focus. I didn't bother speculating what she was thinking about, save to wonder: what does a memory in a memory look like?

"Okay, C.C. I'm sold. Time's up."

She shook her head as if I'd jolted her from a dream.

"I…what?"

"You and I have a deal, remember?" I said. "Hand over the Code."

Finally, at the last gasp, her mask shattered. Confusion, anger, and sadness passed across her face in a matter of seconds.

"Can't you wait a _moment_?"

"Much as I enjoy the whole 'ghost of Christmas past' thing...no."

"But…"

She looked again at the baby nestled on his mother's shoulder. It was almost painful to watch her eyes—like watching a starving child who knows she'll never eat again.

"…Or maybe it's not the easy choice you think it is," I said.

C.C. laughed bitterly.

"My husband turned me in, Lelouch."

"Under torture," I said. "I read the reports, remember? And besides…"

I walked to the bed—carefully avoiding the chamber-bucket—and sat next to C.C.'s memory of herself. My hand passed through her as I tried to stroke her hair. Just as well. And anyway, it was symbolic of something. I think.

"…I was talking about your son," I finished.

She sat down and hugged her legs close. I could barely hear her voice.

"I never saw him again. He grew old and died and I never saw him again. Not once."

"…And yet you prefer to live and remember him rather than die and forget," I said.

C.C. kept her eyes on the floor.

"You're a cruel bastard. You know that?"

I sat down beside her and mirrored her pose. In the bed above us, the women stifled giggles and whispered how adorable the baby looked when he was sleeping. I suddenly noticed that my arm was around C.C. In our entire acquaintance, it was the first uncalculated act I remember.

"Death can't be stolen, C.C. It's not right to sneak away with it like a thief. When you're ready to die with a smile on your face, then I'll take you up on your offer. Immortal existentialist witches try to steal death. Humans like you and me laugh in his face when we meet him."

When finally she looked up, her smirk had returned.

"What a load of melodramatic claptrap."

I stood up and dusted off my trousers. Kinda useless since they were imaginary and all, but I resolved to wash my real ones when I got back, just in case.

"Everyone's a critic," I grumbled. "So…the coup?"

She looked at me as if she was trying to read something. Whatever it was, I guess she found it.

"You really _are_ launching this for me, aren't you?"

I held my fingers in a box in front of her face, like a picture frame.

"Behold," I said. "The face that launched a thousand ships."

C.C. rolled her eyes.

"I'll watch," she said at last. "Who knows? I might sell you out to Charles and launch Doomsday anyway."

By now, I knew enough to understand that she wasn't joking.

"You're just going to watch?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Then I'd better put on a good show, hadn't I?"

* * *

**FROM: **TheFairestPrince34

**TO: **

**SUBJ:** Re: Siegfried Knight Giga Fortress

MISSING?! Where's the pilot?!


	23. Turn 23: Lucy

**Chapter 23: Lucy**

_"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room, "is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me!"_

Shirley took a sharp breath and clutched a piece of Kleenex to her chest.

"Say no," I whispered. "Come on…_please_ say no…"

_"You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it," Elizabeth said._

"AUGH!" I shouted. "Son of a _bitch!_"

Shirley wailed and reached for another box of tissues. Her leg bumped into the popcorn bowl, which disgorged its buttery contents all over the cell's concrete floor and Shirley's bunny slippers. Neither of us paid any attention.

_"You have said quite enough, madam," said Darcy. "I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."_

Shirley sniffled and passed the tissue box. I took one, since I…um…had something in my eye.

"At least tell me Elizabeth kills Wickham in the end," I said.

Shirley shook her head sadly.

"Collins?" I asked.

"Nope."

"Catherine de Bourgh?!"

"Not really…"

"Lydia?!?!"

"Um…Lydia's her _sister_, Lucy."

A strand of hair fell over my face. I blew on it a few times before fussily rearranging it with one of my vectors.

"Still shoulda killed her," I mumbled.

Shirley gave me one of her "concerned" looks. I'd seen them a lot in the past two days, and I wasn't sure if I should be grateful or ticked off. She reached forward and hit pause. Darcy froze in mid-speech. It was an odd position, with his eyes half closed as if he was high or something. Almost…funny.

"You don't have to watch it if you don't want to," she said.

"S'fine," I said, snatching the remote. "I just wish—"

She made a grab for the remote. I passed it to my other hand and tried to hold it out of her reach. She nearly glomped me trying to get it back, so I tossed it to one of my vectors. She gave me a stern look, but her smile betrayed her. I dangled the remote a few inches from her face.

"I just wish these love stories would end well sometimes, you know?" I said.

Shirley bounced off the bed and reached for the remote.

"Don't worry…" (grab) "…This movie…" (grab) "…ends…" (grab) "…happily…" (grab) "GOTCHA!"

Shirley grinned triumphantly and hit "play". Darcy finished his gesticulation and stared at Elizabeth like a lost puppy as the rain washed over them both.

"Kinda looks like Lelouch, doesn't he?" I said.

Shirley wore a _whaaaah…?_ expression for a few seconds, then buried her head in her hands. When she finally took them off, she was red-faced and giggling uncontrollably. For a solid _minute_.

"Thanks for coming," I said.

Shirley stopped her giggling fit long enough to smile.

"Thank Lelouch," she said. "He allowed me to come."

I snorted.

"Lelouch just wanted to cheer me up so I could kill people better," I said. "_You _came because you cared."

A trace of worry passed over Shirley's face.

"Lucy—"

I held out my hand.

"Calm down," I said. "I'd still die for him. Gods know I deserve it."

"That's not true," Shirley whispered.

_Time for a change of subject…_

"How long is the movie?" I asked.

The question seemed to snap her back to reality. I saw her shoulders tighten.

"An hour. If the coup starts soon, you'd better—"

"An hour's fine," I said.

The microwave _pinged_ with a new bag of popcorn. I couldn't remember which of us put it in. Shirley's bunny slippers flip-flopped across the floor as she walked to her backpack to get another bowl. Elizabeth whined at the mirror about how terrible her life was.

"You know what this movie needs?" I said.

Shirley whirled around and pointed a finger at me.

"Don't say it, Lucy. Don't even _think_ about—"

"Zombies," I said.

Shirley groaned.

* * *

Pendragon Palace loomed over me. Its six rectangular turrets watched over the city like sentinels, and in the darkness I could barely tell that they were made of white marble. They stood at the end of rib-like walkways that lead from the central building—though "campus" might be a better word than "building", since the inner palace was a Greek-ish complex with parks and lawns. At night, the pavement usually glowed red from the sakuradite wires that ran beneath it.

Tonight, the wires were invisible.

A snowflake wafted downward and rested on my nose. I looked cross-eyed at it for a second. Just as quickly as it had arrived, it withered and died, leaving a drop of moisture behind it. Thousands of its brothers and sisters fell around us.

I heard the crunch of boots and the soft drone of knightmares. Pendragon had become a city of whispers, of searchlights, and of tense civilians who peered from their windows until a soldier saw the opening in the curtains. There would be a "hey" or an "oi!" and the civilian would skitter back to their living room.

At 22:00 hours, Lelouch had given Schneizel's government an ultimatum: resign in favor of Ruben Ashford or face the consequences. Schneizel knew what that meant. For that matter, the whole city knew what it meant—the vi Britannia branch of the Royal House stood within inches of the throne.

Schneizel's reply came seven minutes later: _Do your worst_. In fact, Lelouch had already tried. Kallen's knightmares had stormed the Prime Minister's bunker as soon as they tracked down the source of the transmission, but Schneizel had vanished. Typical incompetence from Kozuki. Worse, Schneizel had managed to rouse the police against us. At 22:30 hours, our patrols ran into the first police barricades. Rusty Glasgows had piled scrap metal and rubble across the intersections; their pilots crouched behind the roadblocks, clutching hand cannons in their knightmares' creaking fingers.

No matter; we'd shoved them aside and replaced them with our own men without a shot fired. It had taken careful management and coordination, but Lelouch had kept the Black Knights hidden from the police. If the Britannian people knew too soon…

"How's part two of the coup going?"

I turned around. Lelouch shivered in a fur coat a few paces away from me. His breath froze when it hit the air, and I noticed that he was breathing more quickly than usual. That green-haired bitch stood a pace behind him, surveying the scene with her usual look of disinterest.

_Aren't you a little late to worry about Lelouch's love life?_ a voice asked.

An _imaginary_ voice, I reminded myself. Thank the gods, an IMAGINARY voice.

"It's for Shirley," I mumbled.

Lelouch squinted as the wind blew snowflakes in his face.

"Eh?"

"Huh? Oh…I…I'll see, Lelouch."

* * *

_I run through a dark room. Around me, children's eyes flash red with sigils as I approach. One of them looks at me strangely—a black haired boy with thin fingers and freckles. His face shows surprise, as if he expects something to happen when he looks at me._

_"Hi!" I say. "What's your name?"  
_

_He starts to run. I tear him in half.  
_

_Gunfire echoes in the steel hallway ahead. I can't see the source, but I make for it anyway. One of my sisters must be close._

_

* * *

_

"Well?" Lelouch said.

"I think it's working," I said.

Lelouch moistened his chapped lips and rocked back on his heels. The snow compacted so softly that I wondered for a second if he weighed anything.

"Make _sure_," he said.

I allowed my consciousness drift out of Number 57's mind and searched for another. I didn't wait long.

* * *

_Fire everywhere. The man fires a pistol at me. I laugh and bat the bullets away with my vectors. When he turns to run, I slice his foot off. It's funny to watch him waddle away, like a penguin or something. I hear a crack inches away from my head. Another bullet, and maybe too powerful to block. I dive for cover and call Number 72._

_She's my friend._

_I peek through a crack in the boxes and see the mean man who shot me. He has a really big gun; I'm glad I got out of the way in time. A couple feet away from him, another girl with pink hair and horns crawls up the metal tower. The mean man is still looking at me. He doesn't see Number 72! _

_I giggle._

_He looks __so__ surprised when 72 disembowels him. She squeezes his head until it cracks, then squishes it a few more times like a water balloon until its brains are all slushy and stuff. I jump from behind the crate and wave at her. The building is already burning, and we're running out of people to kill. We already splattered most of the people with white suits, and the children aren't much fun. They just stand there and flash their weird red eyes at you. It's gross. At least the white coat guys try to run._

_She waves back._

**BWOOOM!**

_Number 72 trips from the biiiiiiiiig explosion behind her. I'm worried for a sec, but she's okay. A siren keeps going AWOOOGA, AWOOOGA. It sounds JUST like that. My lungs feel empty when I breathe, like I'm sucking on a vacuum cleaner. Must be from the smoke._

_Number 72 crawls down the tower again. I hop up and down and clap my hands._

"_B.F.F.s!" I yell._

"_Totally!" she yells back._

_

* * *

  
_

Children killing children, both in the service of Britannian masters--one group the father, the other the son. Mariko didn't let my mind go easily. She sank her teeth into me as soon as she felt my presence, and I had to rip it back again. With any luck, the bitch got a couple of my less-than-happy memories for her trouble.

We can always dream, right?

"What's going on?" Lelouch asked.

I rubbed my throbbing head.

"They did their job," I said. "The Geass Cult's finished."

Lelouch smirked and chuckled to himself. He rubbed his cheek with a gloved finger and turned to C.C.

"Considerate of them to have regular Diclonius shipments from Kamakura, eh?"

C.C. shrugged. For a split second, I thought I saw a flicker of something in her eyes, and then she was C.C. again.

"The price of scientific inquiry," she deadpanned.

Lelouch clicked the radio's "talk" button and raised it to his face. It wheezed to life. A choppy voice asked him what he wanted.

"I took the liberty of installing tracking devices in a few of the Diclonii," he said. "You'll find the signal description in your operating instructions. Terminate everyone you find there."

"And the Diclonii, Your Majesty?"

Lelouch paused and cast a beseeching look at me. I shook my head. C.C.'s eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch as she looked from me to him and back again. After another pause, Lelouch groaned and hit the button.

"Everyone," he said. "Firebomb it to ashes."

I breathed a sigh of relief. The world may be a nightmare, but it doesn't deserve my kind of monsters.

"Right," Lelouch said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's go."

"But what if—" I began

The right side of his mouth quirked ever so slightly upward.

"I have a bulletproof vest and a girl who catches bullets," he said. "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Everything," C.C. said.

He ignored her.

"How's the Nunnally rescue operation going?" he asked.

"I'll check," I said.

* * *

_Two clouds of knightmares weave and swarm around each other. A cluster of Gurens tears through the Britannian center. They leave a flurry of wreckage behind them--not a line, but a three-dimensional tube. The clouds shiver and dissolve into a thousand individual combats. It's like watching blood dilute itself in water. The black cloud and the purple cloud merge. They become a single dark mass, except for the flares of light and smoke. Papa always told me that a new star appears whenever somebody dies. I never thought I'd see it like this. _

_I cover my ears, but the sounds won't stop._

_I want my Papa…I want my Papa…I want…_

_The girl! She's here!  
_

_A thin, brown-haired girl runs through the door and toward the airfield. She's exactly how Papa described her. I feel a wave of joy and hit the throttle. She opens her mouth. I can't hear her, but I know she's screaming. The wind from my knightmare's engines whips her hair across her face and blows dust on her dress. I reach to grab her—gently, like I'd hold a kitten. I think. I've never seen a kitten, but I hear they're nice and cuddly—_

**_WHAM!_**

_I'm almost too slow. A giant __thing__ crashes into me and sends me rolling across the desert floor. I turn just in time to take some of the momentum off. When I finally stop moving, I check my control panel. Half of the buttons flash red warning signals, and a couple don't have any lights at all. I reach for the control stick._

_My arm isn't moving. My leg's bleeding. I look down and see squirts of blood leaking from my chest, timed to my heartbeat. _

_No…No, no, no, no, NO! _

"_Papa told me to do this, so I need to do it. Papa told me to do this, so I need to…"_

_The thing appears again on the edge of my vision. I start clicking buttons, willing the machine to work. I finally get it standing and pull out an automatic cannon. _

_BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BL…_

_The thing spins like a top when I shoot it. The shells ricochet in all directions, like when I knock bullets out of the air with my vectors. It sounds like a cross between the helicopter Papa carried me around in once and a six ton hornet. I look at the purple-black cloud of knightmares and wonder if help will come in time. It's almost completely black now, but they're miles away…_

_The spinning machine hurtles toward me. Its speakers blare so loudly that I have to cover my ears._

"_ALL! HAIL! BRITANNIA!"_

_It slams into me. My knightmare's chest plate crumples, and I fly __ head over heels __through the air. A few seconds later, I hit the ground really, really hard. I wheeze and gasp; I can't breathe, and the hole in my chest and broken bones scream with renewed vigor._

_That's not the worst, though. The worst comes a moment later, when I see our army disappear in a mountain of light. I try to close my eyes, but it's so bright that I can see the blast through my eyelids. I can even see some of my organs—a chunk of my heart has been sliced off by a piece of shrapnel from the dashboard, my leg bone has snapped, my hand's been crushed to a pulp…_

_I'm losing consciousness. That spinning machine reminded me of something, but try as I might, I can't remember what it was. And is it even important?_

_I wonder if I'm going to survive this. What will Papa say when—_

_An orange. The thing looked like a giant orange._

_If Papa could only—_

_

* * *

  
_

I tore myself from Nana's mind before the inevitable happened. Lelouch and C.C. were both staring at me. I soon realized why—I was pale and shaking.

"What's wrong?!" Lelouch shouted. "If anything happened to Nunnally..."

I took a breath to steady myself. This was _not_ the time for Lelouch to freak out.

"Everything's fine," I lied. "It's just hard to break the connection sometimes."

"Ah."

_What a good liar you've become_, I thought bitterly. A silence passed. Lelouch turned to C.C.

"How's Ruben doing?" he asked.

"Already occupied the major ministries," she said. "The same situation as five minutes ago. And two minutes before that. And three minutes—"

"I get the point!"

C.C. took his rebuke in stride, and we passed through the Pendragon gates without another word.

* * *

Pendragon Palace's hallways were pitch-black thanks to the Gerfjun nets that Lelouch had installed in the city's subway system. Even so, the place leaked cheerfulness and comfort. The architect had done his job well; no one could guess at the petty hatreds that coursed through the place.

"There's probably a picture of Schneizel as an ugly old man somewhere in the basement," Lelouch muttered.

The witch smiled. Once again, I was stung by the gulf between Lelouch's world and mine.

"An old man?" I asked.

He waved impatiently at me.

"Semi-obscure literary reference," he said. "Never mind."

"Oh…"

The heavy tramp of our soldiers' boots echoed through the corridors. Flashlights lanced through the darkness, revealing rows of lacquer doors that, in turn, revealed nothing about what was behind them. They shone faintly when the light hit them. We rushed past them. I heard shots in the courtyard below us, through the window at the end of the hallway.

"Another ninety meters," Lelouch said.

Ninety meters is a long way to walk when your heart's pounding with adrenaline and every creak might be someone drawing a bead on you. I tried to ignore the _clump_-_clump_ of boots and the jingling gear that some of our men had forgotten to remove. We reached a dark brown door with a silver knob that didn't seem different from others. Nervous soldiers' reflections passed across it and disappeared as they reached the wall. Lelouch jerked his finger toward it.

"This one," he said.

We stood back. One of our men knelt and pointed his rifle at the door while another stood over him. The rest covered us from the hallway. The kneeling man pushed the door open. I readied my vectors and drew a breath.

Nothing.

We tossed in a stun grenade, and a sharp bang smacked against the walls. The two foremost men walked in and spread out as their squad-mates prepared to aim overlapping fields of fire at each side of the room.

Still nothing.

Lelouch walked in, with his pet witch a few steps behind him. His flashlight swiveled from left to right. I stayed a discreet distance away—just close enough to protect him if I needed to. He didn't want me near him, and I realized that by now.

I learn my lessons well, you see.

An enormous door stood at the far end of the room. Stranger still, the architect had sunk it into the outside wall of the palace. It was a door to nowhere. Lelouch bowed mock-formally to C.C. and swept his arm in an _after-you_ gesture.

"We're waiting, Catherine," he said.

She stiffened and glared—first at Lelouch, then at me.

"You shouldn't have—" she began.

"You're about to save humanity," he said. "It's only fitting that you use your human name while you do it."

Still glaring, C.C. walked to the door and held her palm out. She brushed her fingers across its surface. Her eyes shot back to Lelouch for a moment.

"What makes you think I'll _save_ humanity?" she said.

Lelouch laughed softly and opened his hand as if casting seeds to the wind.

"If we're not safe from one of our own, our species deserves what it gets," he said.

"By that logic, your father's plan—"

"My father's not human as far as I'm concerned," Lelouch snapped.

"And your mother?" she asked.

Lelouch looked away and pulled his coat more tightly around his shoulders.

"Get on with it, would you?"

C.C. closed her eyes and pressed her body against the door. The world was swallowed in light.


	24. Turn 24: Lelouch

**Chapter 24: Lelouch**

"Where's Lucy?" I asked.

The immortal witch looked back at me and shrugged her dismissive shrug. We stood on a stone platform in the middle of the sky. Dawn seemed to be breaking on the far horizon, and its light gave everything a golden tint. I looked down. Our platform was the base of an upside-down pyramid floating in space without any visible means of support. Circular stairs ahead of us lead up to a pseudoclassical temple that looked like a cross between Stonehenge, the Parthenon, and M.C. Escher's dream house.

I was struck by how _familiar_ C.C. seemed in that place—as if she was my last link to a world I'd left behind. That should tell you something.

"Lucy couldn't come here," C.C. said. "She's not human, remember?"

Well, shit. I could have used the firepower.

A voice boomed from the temple. I turned and saw a man's silhouette against the burning horizon.

"Lelouch! So good of you to come."

I dipped my head politely. When you've spent as long in the Britannian court as I have, you learn to appreciate the little formalities that make life bearable. (Unfortunately, I missed the "etiquette to use when addressing omnicidal world destroyers" session).

"Father," I said.

Sound traveled well in that place. Dad was still far enough away that his silhouette was indistinct, but I heard him perfectly. His cape and broad shoulders gave him the look of a distant tombstone.

"Well?" he said. "Aren't you going to face me, Lelouch? Father to son?"

"Not on your life."

He threw his arms out. The movement ruffled his cape and made him seem even blockier than usual—like a pufferfish inflating.

"C.C.!" he bellowed. "You told him about my geass?"

She laughed to herself. Her reply was quiet, but the room's peculiar resonances carried her words to Dad just the same.

"He figured it out himself, Charles," she said. "Lelouch found out that your brother's a Code bearer. What other conclusion could he draw?"

This time, Dad laughed.

"Well done indeed," he said. "We always had such _clever_ children, eh Marianne?"

I felt a twinge in my chest. A petite girl skipped from behind the Emperor's back and curtsied. She giggled in a voice I'd heard many times—but always in battle, in torture chambers, or in planning sessions. Never laughing.

"Hello, Lelouch!"

"M-Mom…?" I whispered.

Subconsciously, I noticed that C.C.'s eyes were rapidly looking from me to Mom and back again. Of course. The Eternal Observer was waiting to see which side of the fence she should jump to.

My _conscious_ mental processes were somewhat less calculating.

"MOM?!"

Anya's body bounded gracefully down the steps until I could see her miniskirt and black tanktop clearly, with their gold Knight of Rounds insignia. She brushed a strand of pink hair from her face and smiled. It was a pert, knowing smile on one side of her mouth, and she raised an eyebrow. A challenge. That's when I knew. That smile could never, in a million years, have come from Anya Alstreim.

"Hello, Lelouch," she said.

My breath caught in my throat. I felt…

She winked and trotted down the few steps that separated me from a chapter in my life that I didn't want to reopen.

"C.C.," she said.

My companion nodded.

"Marianne."

Mom clapped her hands together. She turned to me.

"Well, that's that," she said. "Now honey, if you wouldn't mind calling off your coup, your father and I can explain everything."

C.C. crossed her arms behind her back and walked a short distance away from us. Her head tilted to one side as she watched the wafting clouds.

"He knows, Marianne."

My mother's gaze snapped from me to C.C.

"How much?"

"Enough," C.C. replied.

Mom's teenaged face hardened. The expression would have looked ridiculous from Anya, but Mom infused that girlish body with an undercurrent of menace. She moved too fluidly, with the same grace that I noticed from Kallen during knightmare combat…except much moreso. Mom's military titles suddenly flooded back to me: Marianne the Flash, the Ace of Aces, the Azure Death.

"Why are you here, Lelouch?" she said.

She took a step forward. I found myself stepping back.

"As we speak, the Geass Directorate is a smoking ruin and V.V.'s stuck in one of Clovis's vats," I said. "I'm ending the Ragnarok project, Mom."

She stopped advancing and brushed Anya's finger along her cheek.

"Oh?" she said. "Are you now?"

"Why…"

I _really_ wanted to trail off and leave it at that, but Mom wouldn't let me. She gave me one of those understanding looks that always brought the truth out of me as a child. A comforting hand rested on my shoulder. I told myself over and over again that I was only looking at Anya, but….

"Why did you leave us, Mother?"

She sighed.

"It was necessary. V.V. tried to have me assassinated—"

"I know," I said.

"Then why ask?"

_Why indeed…?_

I took a deep breath and tried to wrench out of her grasp. I needed time to _think_! I needed—

Mom grabbed my hand and pulled me back. Gently, like she used to do I was young. She caressed my cheek with Anya's hand and shushed me.

"What do you want most in the world, Lelouch?" she asked.

Father watched us both from above. Clever bastard. He was calculating that Mother could convince me. I wondered whether he was right. Mom pulled my face back until I was looking her in the eyes.

"Well?" she said.

I tried to stop my shaking hand—unsuccessfully.

"How…I mean…I don't—How should I know?!" I said.

Her eyes—Anya's eyes—never left mine. Father descended the stairs. I could tell because I heard the click of his jackboots on the metal steps.

"Do you want Euphie back?" Mom said.

My shoulders shuddered.

"I…yes."

Father walked down another step with a _clop_.

"Nunnally safe?" Mom asked.

_Clop!_

"Yes."

"Your mother alive?" she said. "Kallen to trust you again? Shirley to stay with you? Rivalz alive? Jeremiah back?"

Each name hit me like a brickbat to the chest.

"Yes," I admitted.

_Clop!_

My father's footfall was close this time. Mom drew nearer to me and narrowed her eyes, as if inspecting a knightmare frame for the first time. A professional's appraising glance.

"You're lonely," she said.

I heard the clank of a gigantic clock's gears turning, and two black towers rose behind Mom. Something in them writhed and twisted. I took my eyes from Mom for a moment and realized why: they were made of blackened bodies, which linked together into larger bodies that grasped at the clouds around them. They spiraled around each other in two thick cords like a strand of DNA.

"Yeah, Mom," I said. "I'm lonely."

Dad's boot hit the last step.

"Then there's no need for further explanations," she said. "Everything will become clear when the Sword of Akasha destroys humanity's masks and summons the dead to rejoin the living."

Father's voice came from behind Mom, but it must have echoed against something, since he seemed to be speaking directly into my ear.

"A world of kindness," he said. "A world without change."

A memory bubbled up from my mind's inner recesses—an obscure quote from an obscure rebel who'd died an obscure death at the end of a hangman's noose. A historical footnote from Washington's Rebellion.

_The Earth belongs to the living_.

I like historical footnotes.

"No!" I said. "A world without change would be meaningless. I could never accept it, even…even if I never see Euphie again. Find yourself another collaborator."

Mom's face fell, but only for a second. A bitter smile crept over her lips. With a wink, she sauntered over to C.C. and rested her arms around my accomplice's shoulders.

"I already have," she said. "Ragnarok doesn't _need_ two Code Bearers to succeed, and we have C.C."

"She wouldn't—" I began

"I will," C.C. said.

I could only stare in disbelief as C.C.'s eyes shifted to the ground and her shoulders slumped under the minimal weight of Mom's arms. For the first time I'd known her, she couldn't meet my eyes. Not "wouldn't" meet my eyes, but "couldn't". And she wasn't trying to hide it, either. A final concession to me, perhaps.

"You know, C.C., shame is a _human_ emotion," I said.

Mom—_Marianne_—whispered something to her about an abbess and a farm girl. She wilted even more.

"So is depression, Lelouch," C.C. said. "And loss…and pain..."

The Empress shot me a triumphant grin and let my former accomplice go. C.C. shuffled toward the steps. I tried to run after her, but my mother caught my arm and pinned it to her side.

"Wait!" I shouted. "I'll take your deal! I'll take your Code! Come back…"

C.C. turned and gave me the tiniest of smiles.

"Fool me twice, shame on me," she said.

"But—"

"No, Lelouch," she said. "You would never kill me, and we both know it. You were always too kind. And for that…I thank you."

She gave me a feeble wave and stretched her hand toward the waiting Britannian Emperor. He took it and pulled her into his embrace.

Mom sighed.

"Always the idealist," she said. "Your father's arrogant too, but really…To think that you believed a little talk therapy would fix five hundred years of damage…"

She laughed.

Something that looked like an orangish-yellow planet filled the sky above us. I saw black-and-white visions of skulls crying out and of gaunt bodies trudging across a desert. I turned to Mom. She watched her husband's embrace with a gleam in her eye. Her expression reminded me of spectators' faces at an execution. And yet…she was still in Anya's body.

"Mom?"

"What is it, Lelouch?"

I took a deep breath and resigned myself to the inevitable.

"Tell me that everything will be all right," I said.

She turned back to me, and in that moment her face no longer bore the look of a fanatic. She was Anya, but she was also Mom again. The Mom I once thought I knew. She tickled my cheek gently with her fingernails.

"That's what I always told you after nightmares when you were a child," she said. "Frankly, I'm surprised you want to hear it _now_…"

"I'm still a child," I said. "And this is a nightmare."

Her eyes widened when she heard my voice crack. Maternal reflex, perhaps…although you should note that I don't say "instinct" or "affection". Her reaction was an accident. She recovered quickly. Once again, her hand rested on my shoulder in the trademark vi Britannia comforting gesture.

"It's going to be all right," she said.

"Thank you, Mother."

"I lov—"

I activated my geass.

"Stop Ragnarok," I said. "Now."

Father looked up from C.C. as soon as he heard me. Like the lovestruck fool that he was, his gaze instantly fell on Marianne. They must have locked eyes, because Anya's body shuddered and collapsed. A red glow appeared in Charles di Britannia's eyes. For a moment he seemed to struggle with himself, as if he was trying to crawl out of his skin. He convulsed and clutched his arm and fought with the cord of his cape as if it was choking him. Then his arm went rigid and plunged into his coat pocket. A second later, it emerged with a pistol.

A shot rang out, and the Britannian Emperor and Empress toppled from the platform in a single flesh-and-blood casket.

"_No!_"

C.C. ran to the edge of the platform and looked into the abyss, but the body had already disappeared. Her fists tightened and she narrowed her eyes. The witch's voice had a barely disguised undercurrent of venom when she gave me one of the weirdest rebukes I've ever received.

"_Thy dawn, O Master of the world, Thy dawn—"_

"Eh?" I said.

"A commemoration of Your Majesty's accession to the throne," she said. "After months of deciding what's best for other people, it's only fitting that Your Majesty finally has the official power to do so."

The sky's white glow faded. A dingy gray half-light replaced it. Bit by bit, the Sword of Akasha dissolved like smoke on the wind as individual bodies fell from its double helix. The clouds faded away, and even the cobblestones revealed themselves to be metal plates. I held out a tentative peace offering.

"Schneizel's still out there," I said.

"I don't care," she said.

Her voice sounded hollow and empty—hopeless. I ground my teeth and grabbed her shoulders.

"Look here," I said. "You just forced me to murder _both_ of my parents to save humanity—not to mention your sorry, misguided ass—from getting wiped out of existence. You almost destroyed the _entire world_ because you wanted to die, and you know something? I'm about _this_ close to granting your wish right now."

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said. "I threw the dice and lost. Now leave."

I looked at the crumpled, cross-legged figure sitting in front of me and ran through my catalog of options.

Anger?

No.

Another memory therapy session?

No. She'd never agree to that, and the first one hadn't helped.

Kindness?

Don't make me laugh.

I sat down beside her just the same.

"Something occurs to me," I said.

She kept staring into space.

"I guess I've just thrown away any lingering affection you had for me as a child…"

C.C. flinched slightly, but didn't take the bait.

"…But I may have children someday myself, and I think you'd like to meet them when I do."

My statement elicited a small sigh. Nothing more. I tried another approach.

"Who did you kill to get your Code?" I asked suddenly.

C.C. twitched and looked at me.

"That's none of your business," she said.

On a hunch, I used a feminine pronoun to describe C.C.'s Code bearer. Her sharp intake of breath told me I was on the right track.

"Did she care about you?" I asked.

C.C. scooted away from me until I was looking at the back of her head. No matter.

"As I see it, there are two possibilities," I said. "Either she did, or she didn't."

"Brilliant deduction," she said.

_Good. She's talking_.

"If she _did_, then I'm guessing it was emotionally draining to kill her. If not…ditto. Either way, you're asking me to do the same thing to you."

C.C. spun around and pointed at me.

"No," she said. "I wanted _Charles_ to do it, but you stopped me."

"Standing aside would have been the same thing as killing you."

"No, it—"

"Yes," I said. "It would have. And unlike a certain teenage witch five hundred years ago, I _do _care about the woman who wants to give me her Code."

_That_ did it. C.C.'s fists clenched again.

"I _did_ care!" she snapped. "You think I would have killed her voluntarily? She said she cared about me! The _only_ person who cared about me and I didn't have to _Geass_ to do it, and then she told me that it was all—"

She stopped talking and her eyes widened as she realized what had slipped out. We didn't speak for a long while. I lay back with my hands behind my head and watched the sky so she wouldn't feel like I was staring at her.

I laughed.

"You find something funny?" she said.

"The woman who forced me to kill my parents, take over a country, and kill thousands of people to save her doesn't think she's capable of inspiring affection."

A dark look passed across her face.

"I've inspired affection before," she said.

Ah, of course. _Mao_….

"Do I strike you as a socially maladjusted idiot?" I said.

"No," she admitted. "Never that."

Another long silence passed, and then she groaned and lay down on the cold metal floor next to me. We talked for a long time. I'd like to tell you that C.C. came out of our discussion with a new outlook on life, but I can't. People don't work that way. C.C. and I left Dad's doomsday machine as the same lonely, misanthropic people we were when we entered it. But I like to think that we were slightly less depressed when we came out.

Life is a game of small victories.

* * *

We arrived back in the real world to the accompaniment of silence and darkness. My guards had vanished, and so had Lucy. When we fumbled our way to the door and opened it, we couldn't hear or see a thing until we reached a window. C.C. was the first to notice that our breath was turning into little clouds, which meant that the heating was still off. I checked my watch.

Five A.M. The Gefjun nets should have turned off two hours ago.

We rushed out of the palace and into the snowy street. I flicked my cell phone open and speed-dialed someone. I looked at the number. Rivalz. No matter; the cell phone didn't have service.

That knowledge didn't suppress the pang of regret, however.

We crunched through the empty streets. Contrary to popular legend, running through block after block of snowy streets is neither silent nor magical. On the right type of powdery snow, it's like listening to rubber squeak over and over again. Worse, it penetrated my boots. I felt pains in my feet, then slowly lost sensation until my toes were too numb to move. I tried to wiggle them once—unsuccessfully, save for more pain—and imagined the blood in my feet turning to ice. It felt like running with clubs at the end of my ankles.

The working class suburbs around Pendragon Palace had gone completely dark. (I'd always wondered why they put them right next to the palace. Better vantage point for us to look down on them, probably). Shops greeted us with bolted doors and boarded up windows. Winston's Coffee Shop…Vanderbilt Banking and Loans…Lord Piermont's Hotel—all empty. As we passed Pendragon Hospital, I noticed that even the emergency wing was vacant.

I felt my nose dripping and tried to wipe it off with a snowy glove. That only made it worse. C.C. pointed in the distance.

"A light," she said.

A ray of hope shot through me for about a tenth of a second. It vanished just as quickly.

"No use," I said. "The Chinese Embassy has its own electric generators."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Then perhaps we should use it to contact our forces," she said.

"No. The Chinese won't interfere. Besides, the place is probably stacked to the brim with foreign diplomats and press. We can't let them see any weakness from us."

We headed for the Parliament Building. With any luck, I could find Ashford there and figure out what was going on. We passed through the deserted market district and saw more of the same: empty factories, empty shops, dead workers…

I stopped. Bodies lay in front of me, piled in a bullet-riddled heap. Even in the poor light, I recognized younger children in the mix. Someone had tossed a few torn paper banners over the mess with slogans like "Huzzah For Schneizel" and, more ominously, "Democracy Now". They were wet from blood and snow.

"Lucy," C.C. said.

Undoubtedly. Nobody else had the authority (or willingness) to shoot peaceful protesters. But why? I ran a glove through my hair and started pacing. The snow on my gloves melted when it touched my scalp and slicked my hair back.

Then the electronic billboard above us flickered to life and answered my question. Its moving letters spelled out a simple message:

GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE – GENERAL STRIKE

"Oh, shit…" I muttered.


	25. Turn 25: Lelouch

**Chapter 25: Lelouch**

We arrived at the Parliament building as dawn broke. Dawn of the _third_ day, as it turned out. Time flowed differently in Dad's private world. The snow had finally slackened, and smog from the inner city filtered the light into a hazy pinkish-gray when it reflected from Parliament's walls. (Environmental regulations? HA!). The building wore its British Colonial ancestry proudly. Lord Britannia's architects had designed the front entrance in neoclassical style, with marble columns and a scene of Cupid and Psyche on the front pediment. Gothic battlements studded with towers were wrapped around the entrance on both sides. A double-sized replica of Big Ben sat at one corner. Westminster II, they called it.

They also called it "Britannia's dirty secret". It was the oldest building in Pendragon, but also the greatest reminder that the Holy Britannian Empire was a mutt—the cobbled-together remains of a monarchy and a former colony. No wonder that Pendragon Palace stood at the other end of the city, or that the road signs lead the unwary visitor toward everything _but_ the Parliament building.

I laughed. C.C. raised an eyebrow.

"You find something amusing?" she asked.

"Indeed."

We stayed quiet for a little while, but she didn't budge in her determination to make me speak first. Serves me right for trying a dramatic buildup with an immortal.

"I always had a question about the Parliament building," I said. "And until now, it never occurred to me that I had an immortal witch who probably saw it built."

We had walked halfway across the field that separated the entrance from the street. With no trees to slow its progress, the wind whistled fiercely and bit my cheeks. Ice crinkled under us—the snow had melted and refrozen during the night.

"Go on," C.C. said.

I waved my hand at the clock tower.

"_That_," I said, "is a Big Ben replica."

We were only a few steps from the door now, and…Was that a smile on her face?

"I'm afraid you're going to have to explain," she said.

"Oh, for crying out loud, C.C.! You _know_ what I'm talking about. The English built Big Ben in 1859, right? So what's a _replica_ doing on a building from 1815?"

C.C. took hold of the oak door and pulled. The hinges whined and creaked, but it slowly ground open.

"Well?" I said.

She shrugged.

"Isn't it obvious?" she said. "Britannia's history has been falsified."

"So the years I spent in history classes…"

C.C. clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

"Useless. Sorry."

My jaw dropped.

"But…but—"

"Britannia _actually_ started when Cecil Rhodes got the power of Geass in 1874," C.C. said. "My fault, I'm afraid, but I was drunk at the time…"

"You--You're…serious?" I managed to get out.

She sighed theatrically and patted my shoulder.

"I'm afraid you'll never know," she said. "Forever stuck in a limbo between fact and fiction. A world of wild conspiracy theories, where—"

"Damn it, C.C.!"

She smiled.

A year after that conversation, I saw a picture of Cecil Rhodes as a boy. I'll only say this: the little bastard looked uncannily like V.V.

Doubtless a coincidence.

"So…what now?" C.C. asked.

I looked at the empty hall. I found myself remembering the banquet I'd attended there when I was a boy. The ceiling had been so high that chandeliers and rib-like support beams had seemed to disappear into the black space above us. Thousands of minor nobles dressed in lace and satin had watched us from the spectators' shelves. In the candlelight, the linen tablecloths had seemed cream-colored, like brown eggshells. I'd built a castle out of peas and mashed potatoes on my plate. My governess had knocked it down and ordered me to eat like a 'civilized human being.'

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" C.C. said.

"You and your stupid table manners," I muttered.

The sound of footsteps bounced across the hall. They were close.

"Well?" she said.

"Give me a minute."

She tilted her head toward the noisy hallway.

"You have thirty seconds."

I took five. My thinking ran as follows:

Schneizel had escaped. He was probably in Cornwallis, Virginia or New Yorkshire City by now. He'd ordered a general strike. Rather than attacking my army, he'd gone for the jugular: the government itself. Apparently, he'd succeeded. Pendragon had become a ghost town; its workers refused to collaborate with us, and the city's food, water, and power had shut down. The monorails must have been the first to go. In a day or two, Pendragon would starve.

Lucy must have tried to _force_ them back to work—with bloody results. I thought back to the pile of corpses in the town square and wondered how many other victims were lying around Pendragon like piles of garbage.

_Schneizel_…

Only my oldest brother could have pulled off something like this. Cornelia would have lead an armed rebellion and I would have crushed her. Clovis respected private property too much to encourage a strike. Of all of my siblings, only Schneizel had the guts to jettison two hundred years of family tradition and appeal to the masses.

Fool. He didn't understand what he'd just released.

The voices in the hallway were close enough that I could hear them clearly. They were speaking Japanese.

"You need to go," I said.

C.C. leaned to one side and shot me a suspicious look.

"You're not trying to save me--?"

"No," I said. "I need you as insurance in case anything goes wrong. If everything goes south, you'll need to get me out of it."

I'll say this much for her: much as she irked me, C.C. was always cool and professional in a crisis. She gave me a brisk nod and darted into the shadows. I turned to catch one last glimpse of her before she left, but all I saw was a flurry of snow as it blew through the door.

I grinned. Ever the dramatist, I jumped up and hailed the Black Knights just as they entered the room. They almost shot me, but it was worth it.

"Good morning, gentleme—Kallen?! What are you doing here?"

The Ace of the Elevens had jumped into her subordinates' field of fire. Touching gesture, really. Her hair seemed greasy and matted as if she hadn't bathed for days, and I could see dark rings around her eyes. As soon as they lowered their weapons, she put her hands on her hips.

"I could ask you the same question," she said.

I stepped out of my hiding place and made for the stairs, waving her after me.

"We'll brief each other on the way," I said.

After a moment's hesitation, she followed.

* * *

As we clattered through Westminster II's arched gothic hallways, Kallen painted an even bleaker picture than I'd expected. The Knights of Rounds had cobbled two divisions together and were marching toward Pendragon. The Conservative Party supported Schneizel, while the Liberals sat on the fence. The bureaucracy had deserted almost to a man. Even in the pro-Ashford Foreign Office, Kallen had been forced to arrest most of the top administrators.

Kallen's voice wavered and veered into near-Panic Mode as she described the situation. I cursed myself for trusting political issues to a soldier and a telepathic mass murderer. Too late now. Besides, everybody else was dead. I stopped walking. Kallen stiffened and took a quick breath as if I'd startled her.

"Get our military engineers working on the power grid immediately," I said.

She'd already done that. It was impossible, since the workers had sabotaged too much too quickly. And after they shot Ruben Ashford, the bureaucrats—

I grabbed Kallen's shoulders and pulled her until she was an inch from my face.

"_You shot Ruben Ashford_?!"

Kallen winced.

"No," she said. "Pinkerton Branch got him."

I started walking again—quickly, so she couldn't see my face. Of course. _Of course!_ Ruben was under surveillance, wasn't he? The Pinkertons weren't idiots. They'd already set up a contingency plan in case Ruben tried something. Not they'd they'd factored _me_ into the equation, but I'd forgotten about _them_ as well—

_Forgot?_ an accusing voice whispered. _Or accepted the risk?_

Never mind. I still had Kallen, and Shirley, and C.C., and…

…and I'd just killed Milly's father.

I looked out from stained-glass window at the Imperial Mausoleum. Its twelve cylindrical granite stories loomed over Parliament. Even in death, the avenging eyes of dead Emperors watched their subjects for hints of sedition. I vowed to dynamite it.

I said as much to Kallen. She turned a corner and lead me down another corridor. Her next revelation came in a guarded whisper.

The working class suburbs (Proleville, we'd called it as children) had exploded. The first rumblings had been scattered and disorganized, but Schneizel's appeal had triggered something much, much worse. Workers' councils had sprouted. The extreme fringes of the Peace Movement had already declared the West Side to be "the Republic of Pendragon". Reports from Boston and New Orleans said that the same thing was happening all over the country.

A general named James Herjalfsson had just declared the Britannian Army's Floridashire Corps to be "the First Army of the Republic", and in city councils across the nation, the Jacobin branch of the Reform Party had taken over.

"Give 'em an inch…" I mumbled.

"What?"

I ran through scenarios my head. Most of them ended badly. I picked the least catastrophic one.

"OK, Kallen, here's what we're going to do. We've got a Reformist revolt on our hands, right?"

She nodded.

"Good," I said.

Her eyes widened until they seemed the size of golf balls. I continued.

"It sounds like some of 'em have already turned violent. That means we can meet them with armed force. Concentrate our engineers' efforts on getting the radio stations up. I'll declare a state of emergency, which should get the Purists on our side. They don't want Britannia to become a revolutionary republic any more than we do."

Kallen stared at me open-mouthed.

"Purists!?" she stammered.

"Correct," I said. "They'll support any legitimate candidate who promises order. Schneizel just screwed 'em over, so naturally—"

She stopped walking and whirled around to face me. I could tell that she was trying _very_ hard to maintain a professional front, but there was a tear in her eyes. That gave me pause, but I failed to make a crucial connection.

"I…need to know something, Lelouch."

"Kallen, I'm not sure that now is the best time for—"

"_Now_, Lelouch!"

She'd shouted at me. Then Kallen froze for a second, like an actor who'd forgotten her lines. (I could sympathize). When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. Her eyes, though...they were bloodshot and sleep-deprived and stared more intensely than I'd ever seen them.

I looked at the doors she'd lead me to and recognized them as the entrance to the House of Lords.

"I need—I need to know now. Before…well, whatever happens," she said.

I tried to maintain my composure with a nonchalant shrug and wave of the hand.

"Sure," I said. "Shoot."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

_Gulp…_

I smirked. A mistake.

"To become Emperor, obviously."

"Why?" she demanded.

She leaned on the wall and dipped her head back until it rested against the cobblestones. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, shoulders tight and back slumped. And tired. Oh, so tired.

"For power?" she said. "Is that what this is all about? Are you just gonna continue killing people if things don't work out?"

I sighed.

"An Emperor needs to be willing to destroy, Kozuki. It comes with the territory."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her eyes shifted downward, and I saw her nostrils flare and fists tighten as if she was preparing for something.

"When I met Zero, he gave me the will to live," she said. "If he hadn't come along, I would have died in some suicide mission or other. Then he betrayed me…us…the Black Knights. And…"

"And you want to know if I'll do the same thing," I said.

Kallen's brows knitted together as she drew close to me. I felt her lips touch mine before I had time to think. They were warm, soft, and everything I could have hoped for. Unfortunately, in that moment I realized what it meant.

She drew back.

"What do I mean to you, Lelouch?"

Too late now. Ah, well. A merry life and a short one, as they say. I hardened my voice.

"You're a great pilot and a competent subordinate," I said. "Nothing more."

Her face fell. I thought I heard a stifled sob, and then she stood erect again—a proud military bearing to the last. She wiped her forearm across her face. And lips.

"Thank you," she said.

She reached forward and flung the doors open. I looked in. The room was poorly lit, with arched windows on one side that barely admitted sunlight from Pendragon's smoggy sky. Pictures of Saint George hung in two sunken recesses at either side of the far wall, but shadows obscured them. Polished mahogany benches with red leather upholstery sat in rows on either side. The place smelled of musty authority. I looked to the head of the room.

There, seated below a golden filigree tower that surrounded the throne, sat Schneizel el Britannia. Suzaku sat behind him, jaw clenched. He looked me up and down as if he was measuring me for a coffin. I gave Schneizel a curt bow, determined to play the comedy out to its conclusion.

"Brother," I said.

"Brother," he replied.

"Nice shades, Schneizel."

He smiled and pushed on the bridge of his glasses with his forefinger.

"A precaution against Geass," he said. "Though I admit that the opportunity to play dress-up might have contributed a bit."

I chuckled softly.

"I'll bet Kanon swooned when he saw you," I said.

Schneizel bobbed his eyebrows.

"Something like that," he said. "But I didn't come to discuss my love life. Tell me, Brother: what is it about geass that attracts you? Is it the ability to bend others to your will?"

"Nah. I just wanted an excuse to wear contacts."

He leaned back and steepled his fingers in front of his chest.

"No matter," he said. "It's not important. I've come to offer the Black Knights a chance to surrender."

"…Or we could just capture you right now," I said.

Schneizel laughed and tilted his head toward Kallen. When I looked back, she didn't meet my eyes.

"I think not," Schneizel said.

With a flourish, he tossed a manila envelope on the glass table in front of us. The top flipped open, and a pile of papers _sleeshed_ across it.

"Records of your involvement with the counterinsurgency campaign going back to the beginning, including your recommendation that torture be applied to captured terrorists."

He flopped another folder down beside it.

"A list of people you probably manipulated using geass. Kallen's name is among them."

_Flop_!

"A transcript of your conversation with the Emperor, where you admitted that you were Zero. The man who ordered Kaname Ohgi's suicide mission…among others. I can provide sound recordings if necessary. Apparently, our dear Father bugged his own throne room."

My gaze snapped to Suzaku.

"You treacherous little _bastard_, Kururugi!" I shouted.

He gave me a bitter smile.

"How does it feel when everybody knows you killed your family for your own ambitions, Lelouch?"

"Not half as bad as you probably felt when you killed _yours_," I replied.

He actually took a step back as if I'd struck him.

"Wh-what?"

I grinned nastily and leaned forward, gripping the edges of the table like a pulpit.

"Aww…So the father-killer didn't realize I knew his dirty little secret, eh? I accepted your friendship despite the blood on your hands, and you betrayed me."

I could see his face twitch as I dug the knife in deeper. I didn't care.

"Oh, yeah…and Nunnally knows too," I said.

Suzaku took another step back. His eyes widened like a cornered animal.

"I…Liar! You're lying!"

I laughed.

"Ask her yourself! And you know something? I'll bet that little detail made its way to _Euphie's_ ears too. After all, it isn't like Nunnally to let her sister marry a _murderer_ without warning her ahead of time. Just think, Suzaku: your true love went to her death knowing that you were a killer."

Suzaku's hand tightened around something. I looked closely. It was the ignition key for the Lancelot. A growl escaped his throat.

"Oh! Oh! Wait!" I said. "Here's the best part: she died knowing you didn't have the guts to _admit it to her_! Hahahahahahahaha!"

Only Schneizel's raised arm stopped Suzaku from going after me right there. My brother looked at Kallen.

"We have a deal?" he said.

She bit her lip and turned to me. There were definitely tears in her eyes.

"Lelouch, tell me…Tell me it's a lie and I'll believe you," she said.

She gave me one of the most desperate, pleading looks I'd ever received. Too bad I'd have to disappoint her. I turned my back to her without a word.

"Schneizel, I propose a trade," I said. "It looks like the game's up, but it would…_amuse_ me if my former pawns got their country back. Besides, Britannian house arrest would be a picnic for me after the barbarous living conditions in Area Eleven."

Kallen whimpered once in the background. I did my best to ignore it. Schneizel rolled his hand forward in a "get on with it" gesture.

"Fine," I said. "I'll lay it out simply: Me for Japan. The Black Knights surrender me into your custody. Dad's dead, so you'd get the throne by default. In return, this puppet here—" I jerked my thumb at Kallen "—gets her country back. Deal?"

The room was dead silent for almost a minute. Suzaku just stared at me in shock. I smiled—the fool had just bet everything on Britannia only to find out that his country would be liberated after all. Schneizel looked pensive. I couldn't see Kallen's face, but I doubt I could've read her expression anyway. Too many conflicted emotions.

"No," Schneizel said. "The Knights of Rounds are outside the city limits as we speak. I won't give up an eighteenth of the Empire when I can win it by force."

_Shit…_

"Hong Kong?" I said.

Gods, I sounded pathetic. Fortunately, Schneizel had the grace to give me a final hollow victory.

"Agreed," he said. "After I marry Tianzi, the island will revert to _Japanese_ control."

He emphasized the "Japanese" part for Kallen's benefit. Wasted effort, in my opinion.

Tianzi's name brought an uncomfortable thought to my mind: I could have been the Viceroy of Area Eleven with better-than-middling chances at the throne. And now, thanks to an ungrateful, suicidal witch…

…No.

No, that wasn't true. I would have been dead. The entire world would have been dead. My coup might have been a crazy, stupid gamble, but it had saved mankind from oblivion. It _had_ mattered.

Nevertheless, I felt a brief pang of regret at the knowledge that Schneizel's history books would bury my single selfless act in the editorial dustbin. People had remembered Napoleon with marble busts, like little household gods. Nobody would remember me. And _that_ rankled.

"I think you'd better go, Kozuki," I said.

"I…think you're right," she said.

I heard her footfalls as she walked out and closed the door behind her.

* * *

"So what now, Schneizel?"

My brother raised his head from his palm and shifted it to the other one.

"Well, Brother, that's entirely up to you. Our sources tell us that your sister—and mine—just vanished in a giant fireball that leveled half of Alamogordo. If you tell us where Nunnally is, I'll let you off with execution. If not, we'll torture the information out of you and kill you anyway."

_Nunnally?!_

Icy hands gripped my chest and throat. Impossible! Lucy had said—

Schneizel held his hand up.

"Now, now…" he said. "I know you're about to lie to me and say you don't know what I'm talking about. Dismiss those thoughts from your mind. I'm not looking for an answer right away—indeed, I want to give you a few hours to think about the consequences before you answer. After all…"

His throne creaked as he stood up.

"…You've seen firsthand what our…ahem…persuasion professionals can do. And incidentally, that bit about the throne room being bugged was a bluff. I didn't have any tapes."

I did my best to hide a shudder. My success was…debatable.

"And during those few hours before my 'decision'?" I said.

Schneizel smiled and nodded at Kururugi, who clicked open a laptop and laid it on the table. He rotated it in my direction, and I heard the digital _fwop-fwop-fwop_ as he turned the volume up. I peered more closely at the image on the screen. A black-and-red knightmare with a beak like a vulture stood in the city square. It gripped a bladed staff in its hands. Four more arms sprouted from its back, each sporting a claw with one of Rakshata's radiant wave surgers embedded in it. They writhed like a sea anemone's barbed tentacles.

"Your Diclonius," Schneizel said, "is about to die."

That's when I saw them: impeccably polished white knightmares. I recognized them all from Britannia's military manuals. Luciano Bradley's mass of spikes and blades that held a green energy lance in its gauntlets. Gino's jaunty blue-and-gold Tristan. Its horns reminded me of something out of Wagner (except in even worse taste). Bismarck Waldstein's black-and-white Galahad, complete with a cartoonishly oversized sword. The Modred was absent, which meant that Anya was still trapped with the Sword of Akasha. I felt a brief spark of pity when I realized that, as long as C.C. was free and Schneizel reigned, Anya could never come back.

As for the others: Dorothea Ernst, Knight of Four. Monica Kruszewski, Knight of Twelve. Nonette Enneagram, the waifish, short-haired Knight of Nine who'd always creeped Cornelia out. The rest of 'em—whoever they were—were either dead or stationed so far away that they'd never reach Pendragon in time.

"Seems like overkill," I said.

Schneizel just smiled.

The Rounds surrounded Lucy like a pack of wolves around a bear. I heard Luciano's abnormally calm voice as he addressed Lucy from his speaker system.

"Tell me something, Diclonius. What do you value most in life?"

Lucy's beaked head swiveled in his direction.

"The fact that when it ends, I'll be taking all of you with me."

Luciano shrieked and hurled himself at the black knightmare. Too late; Lucy pushed against the concrete with one of her tentacles. The impact launched her over Luciano's head, and as she flew over him, she grabbed his cockpit with another mechanical vector. Energy pulsed through Bradley's knightmare. Its metal skin bubbled and warped as the weapon did its work. The Knight of Ten's com line recorded his final scream before Rakshata's surger vaporized him and reduced the cockpit to a blown-out husk of molten metal.

"One," Lucy said.

Nonette and Monica charged from opposite sides. Bismarck leaped straight forward, swinging his sword in an arc that sliced Lucy's left arm off. But Lucy had taken the blow deliberately; it had obscured one of her tentacles' movements as it wound around Nonette's leg. Lucy reeled in the Knight of Nine like a rocket on a chain and aimed her at Monica. Right before impact, she added her own momentum to Nonette's flight. The two knightmares crumpled into a single hunk of shredded steel.

"Three," Lucy said.

"One at a time from now on!" Bismarck shouted.

So…they'd learned not to mess with her reflexes at close quarters. Shit.

Gino fired. The shells clanged against Lucy's chest plates and blew off one of her legs. She compensated by skittering around with her vectors. Dorothea screeched toward Lucy like a knight on roller blades, dodging vectors as she went. Bismarck was already sweeping through the air for another pass.

Lucy activated her shoulder pylons and fired her payload of chaos grenades to keep Gino and Bismarck busy. The landspinner on her remaining leg deployed. She made for Dorothea—it reminded me of watching a two-hundred-mile-per-hour unicycler.

In the meantime, Gino had avoided the rain of shrapnel and fired another shot. Lucy threw a shield up behind her with three of her vectors and aimed her swordstaff at Dorothea like a jouster. Dorothea's sword cut deep: it severed one of Lucy's arms and opened a gap in Lucy's shield that allowed Gino's shells through. Lucy's swordstaff cut deeper: it ripped through Dorothea's cockpit and crushed the Knight of Four into jelly.

"Four," Lucy said.

Her frame bucked forward and skidded along the ground with an almighty screech when Gino's shells hit it. He'd aimed well—Lucy's sakuradite power plant was already fading. Gino stayed at a distance and harassed her with fire like a picador sticking a dying bull. Bismarck moved in for the kill.

"How do you beat an enemy who sees the future?" Schneizel mused.

"Make the future complicated," I replied.

Lucy fired. Bismarck easily ducked under the blast and kept moving forward. In the meantime, Lucy's three other vectors moved from one place to another to block Gino's shots in an increasingly futile game of _Pong_. The Knight of One held his sword out to spit Lucy like a bug on a toothpick.

Slash harkens spat out from all three of Lucy's mechanical vectors and both of her arms. Ten iron vines controlled by five different limbs flew at Bismarck. The Knight of One was too close to make corrections fast enough. He cut another vector off, but it was too little, too late. The slash harkens wrapped Bismarck like spider silk, all ready for the taking. My accomplice obliged by putting a vector through his cockpit.

"Five."

With an almighty heave, Lucy used Bismarck's falling knightmare as a fulcrum to slingshot herself at Gino. Her knightmare's eyes dimmed as the last drops of power faded away in mid-flight. Lucy's vectors hit Gino too late to use her weapons. The radiant wave surger spluttered and died. Gino's Tristan floated above Pendragon battered but unharmed. The powerless knightmare dangling from the Tristan's body had become Lucy's prison.

I screamed and turned away from the screen. Schneizel sighed.

"Hail the glorious dead," he said. "Gino? Bring the Diclonius in for—"

Gino screamed.

I spun around. After countless hours of watching BritTube, the sight that greeted my eyes was probably the only worthwhile thing I'd ever seen on a computer screen. Lucy's cockpit was open; she'd swung from her stricken knightmare to the Tristan before Gino could react and crawled up the enemy knightmare's arm. He tried to shake her off, but she somersaulted through the air with one of her vectors and cut a hole through Gino's cockpit. She dove in. Two seconds later, his head flew out. Two seconds after _that_, the rest of his body followed.

_Six_, I thought.

As Schneizel and Suzaku watched in horror, the Tristan sped away for parts unknown.

"Now _that's_ quality television," I said.

Schneizel stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Well…fuck," he said.


	26. Turn 26: Lucy

_**SCHNEIZEL'S CORONATION JUBILEE JUST DAYS AWAY!**_

_In the wake of the worst succession crisis since the War of the Roses, His Imperial Majesty Schneizel el Britannia has announced a "Crowning Jubilee". Even now, the Emperor's gold-plated invitations circulate to every corner of our far-flung land. Bankers, tycoons, generals, noblemen—all the luminaries of Britannian high society are packing their bags for Pendragon._

_The Second "Prince" will be among them. Pinkerton Branch's notorious "BOGEL" department has already interrogated Lelouch and declared him "no longer a security risk". His execution will provide the highlight of the evening. _

_Why the sudden gala, you ask?_

"_We've crushed the Reformist rebellion," Sir Kururugi said in an interview yesterday. "It's high time to celebrate."_

_Sir Kururugi declined to comment on the so-called "Peace and Democracy Now" movement that sprung up in the wake of the Reformists' failed armed revolt. Can the recently promoted Knight of One tame the crowds of protesters as easily as he tamed the so-called "Army of the Republic"?_

_Only time will tell._

_

* * *

  
_

* * *

**Chapter 26: Lucy**

**Somewhere in Britannia…**

_Tish—tish—tish—tish—tish—tish…_

"Fenette, you're distracting me."

Shirley poked her head out of the kitchen door. She held a mixing bowl tenuously in one of her oven mitts and an eggbeater in the other. She gripped the eggbeater underhand, like a knife. Pictures of pink kittens on the mitts stared stupidly at me with their button eyes. Cake batter covered Shirley's apron, face, and hair.

"We can't think on an empty stomach," she said.

Her voice was fraying faster than the increasingly frizzy red hair that she hadn't combed for days. I gritted my teeth.

"_Think_?" I said. "How can anybody _think_ when you're scratching your stupid spatula in your stupid bowl?!"

She _hmphed_ and retreated back into the kitchen. The scraping continued. I looked up from my work and leaned toward the door.

"And what kind of _idiot_ bakes a cake for lunch?" I said.

"It's the only thing I know how to make!" she snapped. "And if you don't like it, you can—oh, _shit!_"

I heard a crash and the sound of porcelain rolling across the floor. I rushed into the kitchen just in time to see Shirley covering her mouth and staring at a mess of sludge that vaguely resembled cake batter.

"I…I'm sorry, Lucy. I didn't mean to swear at you."

I rolled my eyes. A twinge in my head signaled a migraine coming on. Too bad I couldn't metabolize aspirin. I grabbed a towel and started wiping the mess off the floor--or at least moving it around a little bit. Shirley crouched beside me, plastic bag in hand. She winced as she cut her finger on one of the shards.

I heard a sniffle.

"Is your finger—"

She waved me off.

"It's not _that_," she said.

I looked at the floor. There was already a tiny red smear where she'd cut herself. I sighed.

"Yeah, yeah…I know," I said. "If anything, you should be angry at _me_ for leaving him like that."

She raised her head from her work and gave me an angry look, somewhat softened by a tear running down her cheek.

"Don't be an idiot, Lucy. What could you have done with a single beaten-up knightmare frame against the entire Britannian military _and_ Suzaku?"

"At least I could have died trying to save—"

"Right," she said. "You could have _died_. Fat lot of good _that_ would've done Lelouch."

I tossed a porcelain fragment into the trash bag a little too hard. It cracked against the floor. Shirley nearly jumped.

"Sorry," I said. "It's just…"

"…That he might die anyway," she finished.

"Yeah."

She put her hand on my shoulder and wiped her nose with her other hand. _Very_ unladylike. Her embarrassed smile cheered me up ever so slightly.

"We'll get him back," she said.

"I hope so."

We'd cleared most of the mess off the floor, and neither of us cared enough to get the rest. Shirley pushed on her knees with her hands and stood up.

"Let's order Chinese food," she said.

I raised an eyebrow.

"And bring up painful memories of Mao's cooking?" I said. "No thanks."

"Pizza?"

"I spent three months living with C.C."

"Oh…right," she said. "Well, there's a sub shop down the street that delivers--"

"Fine," I said.

While Shirley fished the place's phone number out from the dresser and ordered, I scribbled on a piece of notebook paper:

* * *

_ASSETS:_

_* One Diclonius, slightly traumatized_

_* The Tristan. Combat-ready, but can't beat Lancelot. Can't repair._

_* My own knightmare. Utterly totaled. Unusable.  
_

_* One Jane Austen fan. Moderate-to-good swimming skills. Awful cook._

_LIABILITIES:_

_* Lelouch held hostage. Will be killed if we try to rescue him._

_* The Knight of One_

_* The entire Britannian military_

_* An empire with half the world's landmass_

_

* * *

  
_

"I am _not_ an awful cook!" Shirley said.

"Shirley, let's just say that Kamakura _barely_ prepared me for the agony of eating your cakes."

Her eyes widened. Great. I'd just reminded Little Miss Sensitive that I was a torture victim. I braced myself for twenty minutes of oh-so-considerate coddling.

"Forget I said anything," I said. "Really, it's—"

"You missed something," she said.

"Huh?"

She snatched the pen and wrote two more bullet points under "assets" in capital letters:

* * *

_* THE GUREN MARK II_

* _THE GAWAIN_

_

* * *

  
_

She clicked the pen closed and flashed me a smile. My hopes fell as quickly as they'd risen.

"Kallen and the Black Knights deserted Lelouch," I said. "What makes you think—"

"I don't," she said.

"Um…you're going to have to explain."

Shirley's pen clicked again. She touched it to the paper right below "liabilities" and spun it slowly and carefully until she'd created a perfect circle. The text followed a few seconds later:

* * *

_LIABILITIES:_

_* Karen Stadtfeld_

_

* * *

  
_

"Can I interest you in a trip to Hong Kong?" she asked.

Despite everything, I grinned.

"Count me in."

* * *

**Hong Kong Government House, 4:22 AM**

Kallen had already worn a path in the central carpet. Her footsteps sounded off with regular monotony: thirteen steps as her rubber soles squeaked across the wooden floor, eight muted ones across the carpet. She tossed a cricket ball from one hand to the other. Who knows where she got it.

The drapes in front of me fluttered. I ducked into a space between two beige sofas before Kallen turned around. I saw her shadow pause against the sea-green wall. The ball slapped her palm and rolled off. It clacked a couple times when it hit the floor.

I listened for any sounds in the hallways. There weren't any. Kallen's pistol clicked.

_Time to get reacquainted, Pilot Kozuki…_

I launched myself over the sofa, vectors outstretched. I'll give her this much: Kallen was good. She got off two rounds in the time it would've taken most people to realize what was going on. They bounced off my vectors. Before I could grab her, she kicked the underside of the glass table in front of us. Razor-sharp shards flew at my head. Instinctively, I covered my eyes with my arms. Kallen jumped back, upending an armchair. That nearly tripped her, but she rolled out of it and made for the door. She emptied the rest of her magazine at me.

Her hand reached the door just as Shirley pressed a gunbarrel against her back.

"Sit down, Karen."

The Ace of the Elevens spun around. She knocked Shirley's arm aside, wrapped it with her right arm and smashed Shirley in the face with her left. Kallen kicked her legs out before she had time to flinch. By that time, I'd reached the door. I grabbed Kallen's leg with a vector flung her into an ebony-framed silk screen.

Kallen groaned. I picked her up by the scruff of her neck and tossed her onto the sofa.

"Are you okay, Shirley?"

My new accomplice sniffled and wiped blood from her nose. She nodded.

"I'b fine," she said. "Oooh, I dink she broke by dose…"

I grabbed Kallen's hair and pulled it until she was sitting up. She batted at me woozily. My vector floated an inch from her face.

"I can return the favor if you want," I said.

"_DOW!_...I bean, dow, Lucy. Dat's fine," Shirley said.

"'live fer whah--?" Kallen mumbled.

I slid one of the armchairs across the carpet until it faced Kallen's sofa. Still nursing her nose, Shirley sat down.

"Kabben, be deed you—Ugh!"

Shirley gave another frustrated sniffle. She looked to me.

"Baybe you should tell it," she said.

"Shirley, are you sure you're—"

She craned her head back to slow the blood and pinched her nose.

"I'b fine. Just sound stubid begause by dose is injured."

Right…so it was up to me. I figured Kallen needed to brush the cobwebs out, so I grabbed her shoulders and shook her like a martini until Shirley told me to "Stob id!" In my defense, it worked.

Kallen rubbed her head and glared at me.

"So you've come to kill me, huh?"

_If only…_

I growled.

"No, we need your help," I said. "On the other hand, I can't guarantee your safety if you're stupid enough to say no. Shirley here's a regular Jack the Ripper."

"I deed kleenex! Bhere's the kleenex?"

Kallen rolled her eyes. Then I rolled them back for her by slamming her head into the back of the sofa.

"Give us the Guren Mark II and the Gawain," I said.

"No."

_WHUMPF!_

Kallen's head collided with the sofa again. Clumsy girl.

"My only reason for keeping you alive disappears the moment Lelouch dies," I said.

"Kill me, then!"

_WHUMPF!_

Shirley jumped out of her seat. I pointed a warning finger.

"Sit _down_, Fenette."

"But—"

"Down."

She paused halfway between sitting and standing.

"You're going to kill her," she whispered.

"She's going to kill _Lelouch_!"

"I know, but…"

Shirley trailed off. Her face hardened, as if steeling herself for something. Finally, she sat down again. I felt a wave of regret.

"You can wait outside," I offered.

"I'll stay," she said.

I tore my eyes away from Shirley before I changed my mind and ordered her out. Bravado aside, I knew she wasn't up to seeing something like this. Time for another approach. I took a deep breath and pulled Kallen's head until it was millimeters from mine.

"Listen, you ungrateful little bitch. Lelouch just gave up everything—_everything!_—to save your rotten country."

Kallen's lips curled to a snarl. I wasn't convinced. She was crying, and not from the pain.

"He's a manipulative son-of-a-bitch who sold out my people for his own ambitions," she said.

"Wow," I said. "He really sucks as a manipulator then. Because from where I'm standing, _you're_ the one who benefited from all of this."

"Wh—what?"

"You're the de facto president of a new Japanese state that he bought with his _life_. Your homeland's being ruled by Suzaku Kururugi, a _Japanese_ governor. Lelouch lost four sisters—maybe five, since Nunnally's missing—a slew of brothers, his father, his mother, and his position as Second Prince of Britannia. Basically, he got _jack shit_ out of this deal."

Kallen pursed her lips and shook her head violently from side to side like a toddler refusing to take medicine.

"You're twisting it!" she said. "That's not…the facts don't tell the whole story! He…he killed his own _sister_!"

"Cornelia was a war criminal who massacred—"

"I'm talking about Euphie."

"_I killed Euphie_, you idiot!" I snapped.

Kallen and Shirley both gasped. Shirley's hand covered her mouth. She didn't notice her nose starting to bleed again until it dribbled down the back of her hand and dirtied her sleeve. Kallen recovered first.

"You may have done the dirty work, but Lelouch—"

"Lelouch _wanted _the Special Administrative Zone to work! I killed Euphie because I wanted to hurry things along. See, just like _you_, Kozuki, I care more about results than people."

She stared at me with dull incomprehension. I wondered whether that came from the revelations or the concussion.

"You're…You're just lying to protect him," she said.

"To protect him?" I echoed. "Oh, you mean like _your_ job, as his _bodyguard_? He always liked you better, didn't he, you stupid, worthless bitch?"

Shirley raised her hand as if she was sitting in class.

"Lucy, maybe we're getting away from the point…"

I gently pushed her hand down with a vector.

"Shirley, much as I like you—and I really do, which is quite an accomplishment on your part—shut up."

I turned back to Kallen. She wore the same defiant sneer that I always hated. The sanctimonious, treasonous—

I slapped her. And again.

"Always…_ALWAYS_ in my way!" I shouted. "All I wanted was to have Lelouch to myself, but no! No, he always loved _you_! Not me! Oh, no! Not Lucy! Never _Lucy_! Not even after I killed who-knows-how-many people and fought my way through armies for him! Every—single—stinking—time it was always, "Good job, Lucy! Now I'm going to go hang out with _Kallen_ instead!" I thought you'd get the message when I killed Ohgi, but no! No, you were still oblivious. And Lelouch _defended_ you."

Flecks of spit flew from my mouth and landed in Kallen's face. I was suddenly aware that I was shaking her violently and screaming at the top of my lungs. Shirley was shaking. But who cared anymore?

"Yeah, that's right!" I screamed. "DEFENDED you! He _hated_ me for that little stunt with Ohgi. Probably would've killed me if he didn't need me to fight his war for him. And when I wipe out his family to get him the throne. what happens? Oh, _that's_ right!"

_WHUMPF!_

I slammed her head into the sofa's back for emphasis.

"_YOU_ were leading the Black Knights. So I had to kill Tamaki and the rest of your useless friends, didn't I?! All because one—" _WHUMPF!_ "—stupid—" _WHUMPF!_ "—bitch—" _WHUMPF!_ "—wouldn't step aside. And now? Hahahaha! Now, after all that, you won't even save him! Let me tell you something, Kozuki. You'd better hope that your Eleven whore of a mother is well protected, because if Lelouch dies and I survive this, she's gonna—"

"LUCY!"

Shirley was tugging at my elbow as hard as she could—which wasn't much. Kallen stared up at me, open-mouthed in shock. Now I _knew_ it wasn't from a concussion. I hadn't hit her very hard this time.

Shirley wrapped herself around my arm and pulled me toward the door.

"Shirley…" I began.

"Lucy, we're going," she said.

"But—"

"We'll use the Tristan."

"But—"

"_COME_, Lucy!"

We slunk out of the room. Or I slunk as she dragged me. We walked past the unconscious guards that Shirley had insisted I spare, past the picture of the last Britannian governor-general before the Chinese had retaken Hong Kong, past the—

"_You_ sent Ohgi to die?" Kallen shouted.

"Lucy," Shirley murmured. "Don't—"

I shook her off and turned to face the battered Ace of the Elevens. I smirked.

"Bingo," I said. "Wanna hear how he begged before he died, or would you like to cling to the illusion that Kaname Ohgi was a brave man?"

Kallen stiffened. She staggered over to me and jabbed me in the chest with her finger. Her voice was barely a whisper.

"So it was you all along, then," she said. "So, Lucy…you think you did this for Lelouch, huh? Well suck on this: If I hadn't thought Lelouch killed Ohgi, I _never_ would've left him to Schneizel."

My eyes must have bugged out, because she smiled humorlessly.

"You _tricked_ me into sending the man I—my fr—someone I care about to die in Britannia. 'Unforgivable' doesn't _begin_ to cover it. I'm going to promise you something, Lucy. After I help you free Lelouch, I'm going to kill you. And then I'm going to kill off the rest of your miserable species."

I laughed in her face.

"Be my guest. I don't like 'em much anyway."

Kallen shuddered. From rage or fear, I've never been able to figure out.

"You…you're disgusting," she said.

I turned my back and walked into the Hong Kong night. As the doors closed, I couldn't resist a final parting shot.

"Not half as disgusting as the things the Britannians did to Ohgi," I shouted.

Her scream stayed with us long after the government building was out of sight.

* * *

**Hong Kong Alleyway, 6:22 AM**

Shirley and I hadn't spoken since we left Kallen's office. Even when she'd received a call to meet in one of Hong Kong's seedier districts, she'd put it on speaker phone so she wouldn't have to repeat it to me. We squished through the alley in silence.

"Lucy?"

You'll think it's pathetic, but my heart leaped when I heard her voice. Life isn't easy when your only friends are on death row and hate you, respectively.

"Yes, Shirley?"

"That was…"

"A calculated risk," I finished.

She stopped walking.

"Huh?"

"You heard what Kallen was saying," I said. "She thought I was lying about the SAZ Massacre to save Lelouch. I needed to admit that I killed Ohgi in the heat of an argument, as if I was only saying it to hurt her. If I was calm, she wouldn't have believed me."

"You _planned_ that?" she said.

I shrugged.

"Kallen needed somebody to blame. I gave her one."

Shirley tapped her finger against her lips. A long silence passed.

"So it was all an act?" she asked at last. "You didn't mean to hurt her?"

I laughed.

"Not entirely."

She glared at me for a few seconds.

"I won't track down her mother," I said. "Happy?"

Shirley looked at the ground and shook her head a few times.

"You've spent _far_ too much time around Lelouch," she said.

"Not half as much as I'm gonna spend around him when we break him out of jail," I said.

The pall seemed to lift, and we both allowed ourselves to sigh and giggle. Almost like regular girls. Almost like friends.

A figure stepped out of the shadows. He wore a long white jacket and a golden mask that covered one side of his face. Its metal leaves accentuated the upward sweep of his dark green hair. His foot crushed an empty winebottle with a loud _plink_, which made me wonder how much he weighed. Certainly more than the fourteen stone of lean muscle that he looked.

Shirley gasped when the light hit his face. I didn't blame her.

"Jeremiah?!"

He chuckled and stroked his chin, with his elbow resting on his other arm.

"Well met," he said. "Glad you got my call. So you're the beauties who've been doing Lelouch's dirty work, eh?"

He stepped forward. His legs made whirring sounds as if they were mechanical. I placed myself between him and Shirley.

"Two of them, anyway," I replied. "The third's gone, and I'm afraid the fourth is a stupid, treasonous bitch. Not unlike—"

He held up his gloved palm.

"Don't bother," he said. "My ardor to serve Lelouch has cooled after his actions got Lady Nunnally vaporized."

"We had nothing to do with that!" I shouted.

"And yet…she's still dead," Jeremiah said.

Shirley was wringing her hands and muttering to herself.

"Oh my…Nunnally…please not that…can't be true…Lelouch would _die_ if he heard about….please, please, please…"

I did my best to ignore her.

"So what's your game?" I said. "_Somebody _must've paid for your upgrade from emergency room resident to D'Artagnan The Terminator."

"Obviously," he said.

My vectors twitched inches from his head. I wondered if I could slice him to bits before he activated whatever systems the Britannians had installed. He sighed dramatically.

"Oh, very well," he said. "If you must know, my employer is…_interested_ in keeping Prince Lelouch alive."

"Why?" I demanded.

"That's his affair."

"And what about you?" I asked.

He reached into his pocket. I held my breath and prepared to do some chopping. No need; even in the half-light of the alley, I knew a paper ticket when I saw it.

"A first row seat to Schneizel's Jubilee ceremony," he said. "Merry Christmas."

I snorted.

"You're kidding, right? That's _exactly_ what Schneizel's expecting. Shit, now that I think about it, he probably set the ceremony up to draw me out before I start infecting people with my vectors."

His white mechanical eye swiveled in my direction. I detected a dangerous undertone in his voice.

"Is that what you're planning?" he asked. "To infect people so they produce baby Diclonii?"

"No," I said. "My days as Queen of the Diclonii ended a long time ago."

Jeremiah's grip around his scabbard loosened. Just as well. I wouldn't want to force Britannia's techies to replace his hands _again_.

He gave me an offhand wave.

"Your choice," he said. "You have three—" he looked at his watch "—No…two days and thirteen hours to decide. Adieu, ladies."

Jeremiah smiled rakishly at Shirley and bowed. Before I could grab him, he ran up a wall and alighted somewhere in the opposite alley.

"Two days…" I muttered.

"…And thirteen hours," Shirley said.

We looked at each other and exchanged an unspoken promise that we would go through with it.


	27. Turn 27: Lelouch

**Chapter 27: Lelouch**

_They drag me into a room without windows. It reminds me of a shed or a garage: discolored plaster walls that once may have been white; a cement floor; an uncovered lightbulb above us. The shadow from its dangling chain swings back and forth._

_In the center of the room sits a table. It's a spare, narrow thing that consists of three pine boards held up at each end by orange plastic legs. One end is slightly lower so that the tabletop tilts downward. If not for the nylon cuffs at its head and feet and the strap in the center, you might mistake it for a workbench. A dingy mirror hangs on the wall._

_The floor is grainy; my shoes make slishing sounds as the guards drag me toward the room's center. Someone throws a hood over my head. The sound of my breathing becomes louder and all around me. I hear a click somewhere to my right and feel a jolt of adrenaline when a boom box screams "Wanna L-o-o-o-o-o-v-e Ya Bay-beeeeee!" far too loud for comfort. Pulses of pop music vibrate the walls. I struggle. Gloved hands clamp my wrists; I feel the cartilage shift around a little to accommodate the pressure, like when you crack your fingers. _

_They strap me in. The pressure of cuffs replaces the pressure of hands. I hear a gritty squeak as they pull the middle strap tight across my stomach. It constricts my breathing, so I have to struggle to get air. The lights go out. Yellow and green dots from a miniature disco ball swirl above me. The music's beat gets louder. The room seems to spin, which adds to my disorientation since the table's downward tilt makes me feel like I'm upside down._

_I hear Suzaku's voice. Calm and professional, as always._

"_Where's Nunnally, Lelouch?"_

"_I don't know!"_

"_I repeat: Where's Nunnally?"_

"_I don't know! What's wrong with you?! Hook me up to a lie detector or something!"_

_I flinch as a cold piece of metal touches my hand. One of my interrogators calls it a dead man's handle. He speaks with a Cornish twang. _

"_Take it," Suzaku says._

"_Bastard! Were you this emotionless when you killed your father?"_

_He calmly explains that I'm doing this to myself. As soon as I want the pain to stop, I can drop the steel ball and everything will be fine. I do so immediately. He puts it into my hand again and warns me that this is the last time he'll pick it up. I keep it. Someone lays another towel over my face._

"_You're lucky," says Schneizel. "We usually use cellophane."_

_Fourteen seconds. That's how long most people last before confessing—except that I have no idea where Nunnally is. For this, I'm thankful. I beg my arms to stop shaking. I am NOT a common criminal, and I won't go out like one. I'm a Prince of Britannia._

_I'm a Prince of Britannia…I'm a Prince of Britannia…I'm—_

_Cold water forces its way up my nose. I hold my breath. After a few moments, my lungs burn. Adrenaline pounds through my body. Someone pushes on my solar plexus._

_I inhale._

_The wet cloth clamps into my nostrils. I try to suck air through it and get water instead, but almost instantly, I lose track of whether I'm breathing in or out. I gag. I want to vomit. I try to gasp through my mouth, but the wet rag sucks into that as well._

_The rag comes off. Someone helps me up. I see myself in the mirror, limp and red-faced. I notice only a couple splashes of water on my shirt. The steel ball rolls across the floor, but I don't remember dropping it. My muscles ache already, since they've been writhing against the straps for the last few seconds._

"_Well?" Suzaku says._

_To my eternal shame, that's when I realize that I __want__ to tell him. Oh, so badly._

"_I…Suzaku, I don't know—"_

_He nods to the stone-faced men around me. The hood descends._

"_Again," he says._

_They do it to me eight more times before they're convinced. When they pull the mask off for the final time, Suzaku puts his hand on my shoulder and apologizes. I want to kiss the guy. I grin like an idiot, babbling about what a great friend he is. Then I realize what I'm saying, and the humiliation sinks in._

_Schneizel gives me a look of unalloyed contempt and exits the room. After a short interval, Suzaku follows his master. Two hours later, Britannian intelligence finds Nunnally's personal jet at Alamogordo, mostly incinerated. I'm too tired to mourn when Kururugi tells me._

_I do not shower for a long, long time afterward._

_

* * *

  
_

Golden bubbles danced in my champagne glass. My brother sat on the throne, surveying the scene with a contented smirk. It should have been _my_ throne. His upper back sank into the red cushion behind him, which must have been uncomfortable, since the designers had sewed thin plates of gold into the surface. The floor gleamed under the spotlights. I sat on the floor, legs crossed. I was, after all, the evening's sacrificial pet—the slumped, pathetic reminder that Schneizel had won our final game.

The Royal Engineers had constructed two tables for the occasion. Each stretched a hundred and fifty meters and seated five hundred people. Nobles all—Britannia's genetic apex. The men cracked jokes. The women tittered into their lacy handkerchiefs. Their children chased each other between the granite columns. A thousand products of the world's oldest eugenics program were enjoying themselves that night.

The thousand-and-first was not.

_I want to know something_…

"Huh?!"

I looked around for the source of the voice—one I knew quite well. I muttered a quick prayer that it was just my mind playing tricks on me. A glance at Schneizel confirmed that he hadn't heard anything. Kanon was whispering in his ear.

_Do you resent me, Lelouch?_

No…the voice was definitely real. I fought to keep myself calm. Fragments of Kanon's report reached my ears even as I surreptitiously scanned the room for the source of the voice. Something had been launched into space from Cambodia. Something Schneizel hadn't authorized.

_Stop looking around for me. Schneizel will get suspicious._

"How…?" I said.

_And stop whispering! You must have forgotten how I kept in touch with your mother._

_C.C.?!_ I thought.

_The same_, she replied.

A man wearing a red sash and plumed helmet cleared his throat. As a unit, the crowd rose and placed their hands over their hearts. I was too occupied to notice until they prodded me to my feet. Schneizel held up his hand. Silence descended.

"Noblemen and women of Britannia," he began. "We stand at the brink of an era. The fires of rebellion are burning out all over Britannia. The new age washing them away will be age of _order_…"

_Well?_ C.C. said.

_Well…what?_

_Do you resent me for cursing you with geass? For twisting your life's trajectory out of its orbit for my own selfish reasons? _

_Does it matter?_ I thought.

_I…_

Her thoughts grew quiet for a few moments. Schneizel rambled on.

_Yes_, she said. _I suppose it does_.

I hid my smirk. It would've looked a little odd to the spectators under the circumstances.

_So the witch has a conscience, eh?_

The echo of laughter in my mind. It sounded so unlike my former accomplice—as if she'd plucked it from her younger self and played it back to me in a recording.

_Guilty as charged_, she said.

I sighed.

_Rest easy, witch. You should know better. If it wasn't Geass, it would've been something else. Rotten bastards like me don't need excuses._

_Still—_

_Your conscience is clear on my end, C.C. Now shoo. Start living a real life. My dramatic death scene's coming up._

Schneizel leaned on the podium and swept the audience with his gaze. Every movement _so_ precise, _so_ well rehearsed, that I held my breath just as they did. He drew himself up to his full height.

"My father was fond of quoting Darwin and Spencer," he said. "I prefer a seventeenth-century Britannian named Thomas Hobbes. He described human existence with three words that have always haunted me: nasty, brutish, and short."

(Cries of "No!" and "Surely not!" The crowd rustles and glitters under the spotlights. Women swoon. Seriously.)

_Lelouch vi Britannia resigned to his death?_ C.C. said. _Ha!_ _Now I've heard everything…_

_Nunnally's gone,_ I thought._ What's the point?_

I felt something from C.C.--tiny ripples of an emotion I couldn't quite identify. It was unpleasant, like a distant ache or an itch you can't find. Schneizel stretched his arms. His cape blocked some of the lights behind him, casting a faint batlike shadow on the carpet.

"I bring you the lesser of two evils," he said. "Europe teeters on the brink of defeat. In a matter of days, I will wed the Chinese Empress and unify the world's two remaining superpowers. If I have manipulated people—yes, even you, noblemen of Britannia—it was to build a better world. The war against the EU will be the _last_ war. We approach the end of history…"

_So you'll allow this?_ C.C. asked.

_Schneizel IS the lesser of two evils. He'll bring peace--_

_Nonsense._

I knew that she was right. Somehow, I didn't care. C.C. felt that, too, and hit me below the belt.

_Too many people died for this, Lelouch_.

_So what?_ I thought._ I'm supposed to kill more people?! _

_If necessary, yes._

Milly stared dully from the front row. Schneizel's guest of honor. She wore a yellow sundress and matching gloves. A screen of white gauze on her face was the closest her ensemble came to mourning. Britannian law forbids its subjects to mourn a traitor. Milly saw me looking at her, and looked away. She hadn't been important enough to kill, but her presence completed Schneizel's triumph.

_Now I understand why you wanted to kill yourself, C.C._

_That's funny,_ she replied. _You taught me to live._

_You should've known better than to listen to me,_ I said._ I'm young and stupid. _

I felt her shrug her metaphysical shoulders.

_You say that like it's a bad thing…_

_The comedy is finished, C.C._

The audience erupted in applause. The applause began united, a rhythmic clap-clap-clap in lockstep. Then a few stragglers appeared. Some clapped too soon and others too early as the harmony frayed. C.C.'s voice in my head grew louder.

_If your life doesn't have any meaning for __you__, remember that you still owe obligations to others._

_Our "contract", witch?_

_Right you are, Your Majesty._

"Your Majesty". The title seemed so cold, so out of place. There's no time like the moment before your death to realize how much it means to be called by your first name. Schneizel covered the microphone with his hand and leaned toward me.

_Just let me die in peace, C.C._

"Any last requests?" Schneizel said.

_I __do__ feel_, C.C.'s voice said.

"I…er…what?" I said.

"I repeat: any last requests?"

_You want me to say it, Lelouch? Very well. My name is Catherine Charpentier, the daughter of Margaret and Claude Malremmeix. I was born in Lorraine. My child's name was Jean—_

_Get out of my mind, witch!_

I looked up at Schneizel and shook my head.

"No," I said. "No last requests. Just get it over—"

_I'm human. You hear me, Lelouch? _

"—with."

Schneizel's guards obliged. Men grabbed each of my shoulders and pulled me to the execution platform—a cheerful little guillotine with gilt patterns inscribed on its mahogany pillars. A girl from the audience locked eyes with me. She had green eyes, and wore butterfly clips in her red hair, which she'd arranged into two buns. (It's odd what you remember). Another girl sat beside her—black dress, pale skin, high cheekbones…

…Japanese.

_C.C., are you insane?!_

_It's not just Lucy and Shirley. We're all here._

_I know. Listen, C.C. I'm a lost cause, OK? You're going to get yourselves captured or killed. If you leave now—_

_I'm sincerely glad you care, Lelouch—really, I am—but we're going through with it._

That's what I'd been afraid of. Schneizel had…_persuaded_ me to act as bait, but I hadn't thought they'd be stupid enough to fall for it. I looked up at the rafters, hoping that Shirley and Lucy would follow my gaze. Men with .50 caliber sniper rifles swept the room with their scopes, searching for my would-be rescuers. Vectors wouldn't stop their bullets. Plainclothes Pinkertons were mingled throughout the crowd. Some of them I recognized from their shifting eyes. The others could be anywhere.

I heard an explosion outside. Most of the audience dashed to the windows as the sky around the palace lit up with the red glare of Kallen's radiant wave surger…and the green light of Suzaku's wings.

"Right on time," Schneizel said.

The Gawain hurled Hadron bolts at the Lancelot, all artfully dodged. I assumed that this was C.C.'s knightmare. Suzaku dodged Kallen's claw and launched himself at my former—and current—accomplice. He threaded himself between the twin cannons' blasts until he was close enough to strike. C.C. swerved a moment too late. Suzaku's MVS blade cut through the Gawain's armor and dashed it to the ground as a smoking wreck.

_Oops_, the voice muttered.

The fallen Gawain caught on fire. The Lancelot and the Guren Mk II collided in a mass of slashing blades and fingers. Kallen kicked the Blaze Luminous out of Suzaku's hands; the Lancelot fired slash harkens that severed the Guren's leg. Suzaku let go of the VARIS rifle just in time as Kallen grabbed it. A second later, the radiant surger reduced it to molten slag. Both pilots were burning energy at an incredible rate; I wondered how long they could keep it up.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. Lucy vaulted over the table. Vectors cleared her path; the crowd in front of her literally parted as she sliced them in half, and the torrent of blood reminded me of the Massacre. Something boomed from the rafters. Lucy's body jerked as a bullet snicked her out of the air. Instinctively, Shirley and I rose from our seats to help her. Schneizel grabbed the podium's microphone.

"Keep a bead on her," he said. "Kill her if she moves. Kill them _all_ if she moves!"

Every window in the room shattered as an explosion vibrated the building. The sound was so loud that I couldn't hear the tinkling glass as it fell to the ground. I looked outside. Kallen's Guren lay broken on the lawn. Gawain burned next to it. I wondered if Kallen's escape pod engaged in time. C.C.'s hadn't—this I knew because I felt waves of pain from her mind. She was still trapped in her burning knightmare. I cursed her for endangering herself. Lucy moaned on the ground.

It was all up to me, and my mind was a blank.

_Idiot! Why did you come for me? _

_Returning the—aaah!—the favor_. _We're accompl—AAAAUUGH!_

C.C.'s thoughts dissolved into incoherent agony. Flashbacks and memories of being burned alive merged with her present reality. I girded myself for one last performance.

"Schneizel!"

He looked at me with that smug, superior expression I'd always detested. I said the first thing that popped into my mind, trying to buy time.

"You've already lost," I announced. "And now it's time for me to lay down terms."

He laughed. I ignored him, running through the situation's elements as quickly as I could. A Diclonius, half-dead. Kallen's connection with the Black Knights. The fact that Shirley and Lucy had successfully infiltrated the Jubilee. The crowd of nobles that Schneizel relied upon for support. Rakshata's Diclonism antidote…

I _had_ the bastard dead to rights.

"Look around you, Brother," I said. "What do you see?"

He didn't bother replying. But he would, soon enough.

"A thousand of the finest products of Britannian selective breeding," I said. "The entire gene pool. _That's_ what this crowd represents. What would you do if I told you that I can wipe them all out?"

His eyes widened a tiny fraction.

"I'd call you a liar," he said.

"Then you'd be a fool!" I shouted. "Diclonism spreads through vectors. Do you think Lucy was idle before she jumped toward the stage? She was infecting your precious nobility. They're carriers now. And not _just_ the nobility. Tell me, Schneizel: did you feel a slight jostle as you moved through the crowd?"

His poker face cracked a bit more, and he grew pale.

"That's not—"

"Silence! Now it's _my_ turn to make a one-sided deal. You'll free me and my accomplices and return Japan to the Japanese, or your precious bloodline and the bloodlines of the _entire Britannian ruling class_ end tonight."

"You wouldn't—I--I'll torture you until you give me the antidote," he said.

I laughed. The long, overblown laugh that I reserve for special occasions.

"You think _I _have it?" I said. "Think again, Brother! The Black Knights have it—and they couldn't care _less_ about what you do to me. Thanks to _your_ television broadcast, they know all about their new trump card."

Gasps and shouts of horror came from the audience. They looked at me with murder in their eyes. A few tried to storm the stage. I heard the sound of breaking glass as several of them shattered their wine glasses to use as weapons. Schneizel's guards held them back.

My brother looked from me, to Lucy, to the angry crowd. I saw his jaw tighten. In a calmer situation without the media spotlight, he might have figured out ways to poke holes in my little scheme. Unfortunately, the eyes of the world were on him. He stroked his chin thoughtfully…and blundered.

"Agreed," he said.

* * *

The ride to the airport took the better part of an hour. We sat in black leather seats. Even if we'd wanted to see Pendragon at night, the darkened windows would have prevented it. I sank into the upholstery and tried to ignore the queasy feeling in my stomach. Shirley bit her fingernails as she watched Lucy bleed on the seat. I wasn't worried—she'd survived worse. C.C.'s charred, moaning body was another thing entirely. I tried once to run my fingers through her hair in a reassuring gesture, but she flinched and cried out. Then I retreated into the inner recesses of my mind and played Morphy versus Steinitz, Game 3, Vienna, 1868. Over and over again. Backwards.

It wasn't until the sixth (or seventh?) time Shirley said "Lelouch" that I realized she was talking to me. I looked at her. She whispered.

"But Lucy didn't infect any—"

"Shush," I said.

Kallen's voice buzzed over the radio. Shirley gave her a crisp summary of the facts: Lucy had a bullet hole in her. C.C. was burned to a crisp, but recovering. I was with them. Kallen's voice wavered when she heard this.

"How…how's Lelouch?" she asked.

"Not good," C.C. croaked from the floor.


	28. Turn 28: Lelouch

**Chapter 28: Lelouch**

**

* * *

  
**

**FROM:**_ --_

**TO: **_KnightofOne_

**SUBJ:**_ So it's settled?_

_Suzaku,_

_We have a deal then: your inaction now in return for the Requiem later. Your redemption for mine._

_Then we'll have democracy._

_--L. vi B._

_

* * *

  
_

"Your name, please?"

The woman leaned into the microphone. She was in her mid thirties—thirty-six, if you believed her testimony, though the War had destroyed the records—but looked older. Her fingers were thin, wrinkled, and bony. Gray streaks ran down her hair. She wore headphones.

"Akiko Tanaka."

On the sidelines, hunched reporters scribbled and tapped at their keyboards. Outside, their colleagues stood in the flurrying snow as they kept Japan informed of Case #ICT45049201. And no wonder. Thanks to my three days as absentee Emperor, I was the first head of state to be tried for war crimes. A symbolic blow to Britannian prestige.

_Oh, Brave New World, _C.C. muttered in my head.

The jury sat to my right at a shiny, faux-wood table. Two microphones occupied the tabletop, both unused. Their cords had wound themselves into untidy snarls. The jurors sat in metal chairs with plastic wheels attached, and huddled or slumped back as the whim took them. Not very official looking, but hey—this was _their_ country after all.

_Don't worry_, I thought. _Clovis's government didn't keep good records. There's no way they've gathered enough evidence to prove widespread conspiracy._

_Then why do your thoughts have an undercurrent of fatalism?_ C.C. asked.

_I'm not going to die __yet__, witch…_

One of the judges addressed me. I withdrew my attention from C.C. just in time to notice.

"Defendant vi Britannia…Before we begin, we're giving you the opportunity to hear the indictment in full. Do you agree to this?"

I placed my fingertips on the table and pushed myself to my feet. I surveyed my "judges". Like everyone else in the courtroom, they wore special visors to block geass if I was stupid enough to use it. They wore men's kimonos, topknots, and the sandals that my countrymen derisively referred to as "flip-flops"--a reaction to the powdered wigs and long robes of the Britannian occupation, no doubt. I'm surprised they didn't have katanas. Still, I of all people wouldn't begrudge the Japanese their bit of theater. I beckoned the man holding my microphone to bring it closer.

"I do not recognize the authority of any government that _I_ brought into existence to charge me with war crimes," I announced. "Read the indictment or not, as you wish. That's your problem."

He read it. Apparently, my private war had killed five-million-one-hundred-and-nine-thousand-one-hundred-and-ninety-five people (he rattled the number off just like that), give or take. Many were Britannian—a fine bit of chutzpah from the court if you ask me. Apparently the 2,598,390 _military_ casualties on both sides didn't count. Nor did the 3,284,482 wounded, subdivided into 948,850 Britannians and 2,335,632 Japanese. I didn't bother correcting the man, for obvious reasons.

I'd expected the death toll. Early in the conflict, I'd scaled up the casualty figures for Britannia's Algerian war and arrived at nine million. I'd underestimated slightly.

A small price to pay for freedom.

_You always had a good head for statistics_, C.C. said.

The woman testified. I watched her face on a blue-tinted TV monitor embedded in my desk. Little white lines ran down the screen every so often. The Britannians had come to her village in November, burned her brother's house and machine-gunned most of her family. She'd survived by playing dead in the pile of bodies. Her four children had not been so fortunate.

As she spoke, I shuffled through the postcards I'd received in the mail. After they'd found out that I was Zero, a few Japanese extremists sent me gushing letters and assurances of support. I suspect they missed the point somewhere along the way. The projector screen at the front of the room came to life. It showed men in colored parkas as they walked into a dried-out stream bed. Twenty human bodies and a dead German shepherd lay amid the rocks and dirt. The footage was a little grainy, but clear enough. One of Cornelia's mass graves.

An hour later, Kallen slipped on a pair of headphones and testified--scratch that, _lied_--on my behalf. The prosecutor called her "Stadtfeld" once, which earned him an earful of indignant shouting. I smiled that that. My smile waned when Kallen refused to meet my eyes.

And so it goes.

* * *

_Cellophane sticks to my face, blocking my nose and mouth. I can't breathe. I kick and struggle, but that only burns my air supply faster. My lungs scream for oxygen._

"_Again," Nunnally orders._

_

* * *

  
_

"GAH!"

I clawed at the pillow and sheets until I could feel the cold, sweet air again. I took a deep breath. From the chair at my bedside, Lucy looked up. She bit her lip, eyebrows knitted.

"Lelouch?"

"Huh?"

"Are…are you…I mean—"

"I'm fine," I lied. "How's your reading going?"

Lucy sighed and tossed _The Catiline Conspiracy_ on the floor. It landed on a pile of twenty other books with a _clop_ that echoed against the cell's walls. Stress lines had formed on her forehead, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose as her head touched the yellowed wall. Her horns made a hollow, grinding sound when they rubbed against it.

"Finished," she said.

"And…?"

"And I don't see how it helps us," she said. "The guy hesitated too much and lost to a _lawyer_. Besides..."

She trailed off. I wasn't letting her escape that easily.

"Yes?" I said.

"It's just—ughh--"

She stretched out her arms and kicked the book pile over—more from reflex than anger.

"Lelouch, it just doesn't seem useful. We're not attacking a republic."

"We're not _attacking_ at all," I said. "This isn't a military campaign."

"It won't be _anything_ as long as Schneizel has the throne," she said.

I walked to the window—not an easy feat in a seven-by-nine cell. The steel bed frame pressed against my leg.

"He won't last three months," I said.

She shot me a quizzical look, but I didn't elaborate. The iron door squealed on its hinges. A guard stood in the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently. He wasn't particularly tough-looking, and his only sidearm was an unconvincing-looking baton that wouldn't last two seconds if Lucy decided to puree him. Then again, he didn't need one. Wall-mounted .50 caliber machine guns followed her movements everywhere she went.

"Time to go back to your cell," he said.

Lucy nodded. She held her hand out tentatively, as if touching a stove. I took it. I saw her smile, and then she walked out and the door swung shut.

* * *

Narita.

Ostensibly, I visited it because a witness had mentioned it. Since I was conducting my own defense (badly, I might add), I'd leaped at the chance to "inspect the evidence" myself.

Actually, my reasoning was twofold. First, I was going stir-crazy, and needed fresh air. Second…

"Hello, Lelouch."

"Hey, Milly," I said.

We stood in a memorial garden. For the first time in months, I saw her hair in the sunlight. Milly always had the most beautiful golden hair—not light brown, but gold, as if they'd spun fine thread from the ingots at Fort Knox and placed the result on her head. I'd expected her to wear black. She wore her Ashford uniform instead. Oh, she was a subtle girl, was Milly.

_The Purebloods are getting restless_, C.C.'s voice whispered. _Habersham wants to start early._

_Not __now__, witch!_

_Then when?_

Milly knelt by a limestone marker with two brass plaques attached to its surface. Mourners had arranged chrysanthemums around it, and lilies—the latter, I guessed, came from Britannians. Milly struck a match and lit three sticks of incense, which she arranged in a straight line in the ground. The marker shielded them from the wind.

_We should start immediately, Lelouch._

_No…We need to make this look legal. I can't look like an adventurer—_

"They built a memorial site," Milly said.

"So I see," I said.

I stared past the marker at the rows of tiny hedges that marked graves. The sight went on for miles—green blobs in a field of white stones, all watered and tended. If only they'd known that their relatives were within easy reach, laughing at their diligence from the Collective Unconscious.

_Jourdain thinks that your plan is too complicated_, C.C. said.

_Jourdain's an idiot. The plan's fine. And give me a __minute__, would you?!_

She didn't listen, of course.

_He also objects to doing it in a single day. After your last performance, I can't say I blame him--_

_C.C., kindly shut up._

…_And whatever you do, try to avoid those dreary speeches._

Milly looked up at me. I realized now that she had another reason for wearing the Ashford uniform: it partially concealed her tense shoulders. She rose and crossed her hands behind her back, all the better to wring them where she thought I couldn't see them. She gave me a brittle smile.

"You look a little…tense," she said.

"I guess so," I replied.

_Not as tense as Prendergast_, C.C. said. _He's learning to pilot a knightmare in case he needs to make a quick getaway. We've already subverted all four Commons inspectors, but the Lords—_

_C.C., stop. I'm not kidding_.

"Lulu!"

I turned to Milly and wondered what I'd missed. Her lip trembled, although she was clearly trying to fight it. Her eyes seemed moist.

"I'm sorry, Milly. What were you—"

_And don't make any anti-Parliament statements during your trial. Or pro-Parliament statements, for that matter.. Or…_

_Shut up!_

"—saying?"

The last word came a few seconds too late. Milly drew the obvious conclusion.

"Lulu, if you don't even care enough to pay attention—"

"It's not like that!"

Milly winced. I realized that I'd shouted at her, and reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. Too late. She shook her head and gently guided my hand downward with her own.

"One question," she said. "That's all I want you to answ…"

_Come to think of it, Lelouch, you should've been born a few centuries earlier. When I see you throw caution to the wind, so confident of your own ability to triumph over everything in your path—_

_C.C., I'm begging you to stop._

_Then get to work! I'm won't let you put yourself in danger again unless I'm sure you're prepared._

From the pained expression on her face, I guessed that I'd kept Milly waiting for a long time. I could guess what she wanted to know. My taste for brutal, masochistic honesty kicked into overdrive.

"Milly, I didn't do everything to keep your father safe," I said.

_Lelouch, she didn't—_

_Quiet, witch._

Milly's eyes widened.

"I used him," I said. "The coup wasn't ready. I kicked it off early to help a friend and endangered everybody who went along with me."

_Lelouch, that's not what—_

_SHUT UP!_

Milly took a step away from me, her hand over her mouth. I sneered (at myself, but she didn't know that. Not that it would've mattered).

"Basically, Milly, I used you, your father, and every--"

"That's enough," she said. "That's—please, that's enough….I think I see what you're saying. Even_--_ …"

Milly tried desperately to force a smile. She succeeded, but her smile was a mangled thing that fooled neither of us.

"…Even dunces like me can get the point eventually," she said.

She dipped in a low curtsey and walked to the car. I stared at the rows of bushes with an odd hollow feeling in my chest, like someone had just carved out my intestines with a shovel. I turned my pain on the nearest available target. It helped that she was partly responsible.

_So what is it, witch?! What did you need to tell me SO DESPERATELY that it interrupted the last conversation I'll ever have with my oldest friend? More poetry, maybe?! Or d'you just want to whine about how much you want to die…again?_

I was almost glad to feel the ripple of sadness that my remarks caused.

_I was trying to tell you that you answered the wrong question_, she said.

_Excuse me?_

_Milly asked you if you cared about her._

_Wha…How?!—You—You worthless—AAARGH!_

The queasy feeling returned. My heart rate spiked, which evoked unpleasant memories of drowning and being unable to catch my breath. I didn't notice Milly's reaction out of the corner of my eye, but C.C. did.

_She's looking back, Lelouch. Maybe—_

_Maybe it's better this way_, I finished.

I kept my back toward Milly and said nothing. A long time passed. I heard a car door slam, and that was that. It may sound callous, but when you come right down to it C.C. deserved a son of a bitch like me. Milly didn't. She used to be so happy...

* * *

I felt cold air on my arm as I ran an isopropyl alcohol pad over it. It scratched me just a bit, but left a clean, cool sensation in its wake. I looked at it. Even its pocketed indentations were still white, which meant that I'd cleaned most of the grime from my body. I flipped it over and pinched a lock of my hair with it. The hair squeaked as I washed it.

I stopped and looked at the clock. Still an hour left, so I tossed the pad into the wastebasket and tore open another plastic package. Forty down, twenty-one to go.

"What…are you doing?"

I nearly jumped. The voice changed halfway through the question from puzzlement to concern. I hadn't thought anybody was watching me through the door, but the open slot at eye level said otherwise.

"Eh? Er…nothing," I said. "Come back later."

Instead, Kallen opened the door and pulled the plastic chair next to my bed. It whined as its legs dragged on the floor. I rolled my eyes.

"Or you can have a seat," I said.

She ignored the sarcasm, or pretended to ignore it.

"Thanks," she said. "What are you doing?"

Option one: I could lie. Unfortunately, Kallen's probably seen me do this on security cameras, so it would be pointless. Avoid.

Option two: Tell her it's none of her business. Bad idea. That's only going to elicit sympathy, which I don't want.

Option three: Tell her the bare minimum. Acceptable.

"Washing," I said.

Kallen nodded, still meeting my eyes. She showed subtlety that I didn't know she had, leaning forward just enough to invite me closer if I wanted to.

"I can see that," she said.

A long pause. I looked at the ceiling, opening my hand in a nonchalant gesture.

"It's more hygienic this way," I said.

Silence.

"It's…"

"Yes?" Kallen said.

She ran her hand through her hair. I started to do the same, but stopped when I remembered that I hadn't finished washing it.

…Or rather "washing" it. With quotation marks.

I sighed.

"I'm a bit leery about showers recently," I said.

"You're worried about other prisoners?" she asked. "Because there aren't any. Aside from Lucy, you're the only—"

"I'm worried about water," I said.

"I…see."

"So…" I began.

"Come," she said.

Kallen stood up and took my arm, leading me through the honeycombed halls of the former Britannian Cell Block 1. I prepared to struggle when we reached the showers, but she walked past them. I relaxed. We walked through Cell Block 2, Cell Block 3, and the sevem of armed security checks. One of them tried to stop us, but the Ace of the Elevens' angry glare was enough to get us through. It never pays to piss off your army's best pilot…especially when she controls a private army with enough firepower to destroy the rest of the JSDF.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

Kallen didn't even bother looking back. Her pace quickened a bit.

"You'll see," she said.

We kept walking: past blue carpeted hallways, past officials' offices with expensive desks, and through a room full of cubicles. Papers flew as the secretaries gasped at the "War Criminal" in their midst. One even smiled at me. I winked, and she giggled and turned away. The guy behind her blew me a kiss…which freaked me out slightly and deterred me from further theatrics.

Kallen turned around long enough to roll her eyes.

I felt fairly out of breath by the time we arrived at our destination: an oak door with "Kallen's Lovely Suite" stuck to it on a post-it note. Kallen opened the door and stepped inside. I stood in the hall, trying to figure out what was going on.

"Well?" she said. "Come on. I haven't got all day."

I gulped and walked in.

I'll say this much: whoever built the place had a sense of style. It had all the usual features--glass coffee tables, beige carpet with gold-ish chairs to match, giant TV—but the view was simply beautiful. Tucked into one corner of the room, a table for two sat next to a giant window. Above the table, a glass ceiling let in the moonlight, forming a half-cube of glass that reminded me of a diamond. A silver chandelier that looked like a cross between a pine cone and a wisp of smoke softly illuminated everything else.

"Nice room," I said.

She opened another door and pulled me inside. Before the door clicked shut, I noticed a mirror on the wall and allowed my imagination to play around a bit. Sure, it wasn't very likely, but—

The light turned on.

"Oh, shit," I muttered.

Kallen stood by the door, blocking my path. My heartbeat quickened.

"Lelouch, I think you should—"

"Get _out _of my way," I snapped.

Kallen wavered a tiny bit, but no more. She held up her hands, palms out. Appeasing…but not moving. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, and got an eyeful. My hair was shiny from all the oil that had piled up. I had large bags under my eyes, and even by _my_ standards, I was looking emaciated. I looked down, but my image stared cheerfully back at me from the pink tiles. I rubbed my shoes over the reflection.

"Okay," she said. "Okay, fine. I'll let you go if you want—"

"You think this is _funny_, Stadtfeld?"

If the deliberate use of her Britannian name troubled her, she didn't show it.

"No," she said. "It's just…I think I can help."

I laughed in her face.

"_You_?" I said. "Help _me?_ Tell me something, Stadtfeld: Who's the one with the 220 IQ? Who nearly became Emperor of Britannia, eh? Which one of us published more peer-reviewed research for the Britannian Journal of Applied Psychology than any _three_ people combined?!"

"You," she said quietly.

"Right. Now get out of my way."

Kallen's hands balled into fists at her sides.

"You need help, Lelouch!" she shouted. "Look—"

She pointed at my reflection, and her hand shook.

"Just look at yourself, would you?! You haven't eaten in _days_, Lelouch. You haven't bathed normally, either. You think I don't know the signs? I'm not an idiot. I saw _exactly_ the same thing from some of the Black Knights when your interrogators got them."

I could tell that she was trying _very_ hard not to comment on the poetic justice of the situation. To my eternal gratitude, she managed to avoid it. Just barely.

"Look," she said. "I don't know exactly what they did to you, but I know a little bit about what it's like to lose people, okay? It sucks. And unless you take a little time to _fix_ yourself, you're gonna fall apart and lose this trial."

I scowled at her. The urge to hit back with _something_ was irresistible.

"And you'd like that, wouldn't you?" I said. "Must make an _Eleven_ feel pretty important to put a Prince of Britannia on trial."

Kallen tensed as if she was going to slap me. She didn't. Just as well, since I don't think my frame could've taken much of a pounding at that point. Instead, she took a very…slow…breath.

"No," she said. "It doesn't. It makes me sick."

I laughed humorlessly.

"So I sicken you, then?"

"You…What you've done sickens me," she said. "But you gave us our country back..."

She didn't know it at the time, but she might as well have said "gave _ME_ _MY_ country back." The rest of her rotten people could go drown themselves as far as I was concerned.

"…and since you're a prince of Britannia and all," she said, "I figured you'd want to…um…purge your weaknesses as quickly as possible."

Although I didn't admit it, I appreciated the effort. Few girls would phrase their offer to help me in the Darwinian idiom of the Britannian court just to spare my ego. Especially when they've fought Britannia their whole lives. Then again, Kallen was always…different.

I smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"So you're just going to stand there while I undress?" I said.

Her cheeks turned bright red.

"Let's…er...perhaps it would be better if…um…?"

"It's fine," I said. "I'll keep my clothes on."

I unbuttoned my overshirt, slipped out of my shoes, and approached the bathtub. Kallen guided me with her left hand and turned the knob with her right. I felt warm steam rise from the tub. My heart beat a little faster and I felt my breathing start to constrict. Every muscle must have tensed up.

The Ace of the Elevens handled it with the same stolid professionalism as always. She kneaded my shoulders until they relaxed a little and she walked into the shower, waiting for me in the nozzle's path. I followed, and the water ran over us both. She brushed my hair to one side to prevent the water from flowing over my nose. It took a few minutes, but the knots finally loosened.

So there you have it: two fully clothed teenagers…soaking wet…standing in a warm shower…in each other's arms…not doing anything remotely sexual. Perhaps the world _was_ boring back in my day.

* * *

Let me ruin some of the suspense right now. I'd like to tell you that I looked into Schneizel's eyes as his world collapsed around him, swept my arm in a grand gesture at the devastation, and shouted "Behold what I have wrought!" at the top of my lungs, to the accompaniment of evil laughter.

Sorry.

Oh, sure; I played my part. The Britannian Revolution of '18 would've been bloodier without my intervention. Probably. I'll tell you all about it later. For now, I'll just give you a rundown of the facts. Gods know you've probably heard them enough already.

When Schneizel used the masses to beat me, he'd sewed a whirlwind. For the first time since Lord Morgan's first Pinkertons gunned down the Molly Maguire movement, Britannia's plebs realized that they could _force_ a regime change. Schneizel's televised humiliation added fuel to the fire. Within a month, strikes paralyzed Standard Oil, the Vanderbilt Railroad Trust, and Frick Steel. Schneizel's supporters got edgy and demanded violence. He blended the carrot with the stick by announcing new elections and massacring the workers at the same time.

It worked, at first. Schneizel could have ended it by applying Cornelia's totalitarianism, but he was always too cocksure for his own good. He thought he could outmaneuver the protesters, so he opened the House of Commons up to _genuine_ commoners and eliminated the property requirement for voting.

Elections swept the nobles out. Reformers—mostly commoners—talked about eliminating titles altogether. They drew up a constitution which placed limits on Schneizel's power and carved the government into three distinct foci: Parliament, the Courts, and the Emperor. Worse, they wrote it in language that the people could easily understand. Rotten boroughs converted to cantons with significant popular self-government even as new rules placed the police and military under Parliamentary control. That's when my brother realized he'd made a mistake.

The older nobles grumbled, but did nothing. The young firebrands among the Purists plotted. They wanted to overthrow Schneizel and his whole pack of commoners at one stroke...

Now let me take a step back. The new constitution was a cheap piece of paper. The military could have stopped the cancer's spread at any time, but two things prevented them. The first was Schneizel himself, who playacted democracy and didn't realize what was happening until too late. The second _was_ my doing. The military divided into two factions. The Purists wanted to "demobilize" civil society and turn Britannia into a (worse) police state. The Moderates stayed neutral…which helped the rebels by default. Suzaku, the Knight of One, stayed with the moderates as the Purists lost ground and Schneizel's regime sank deeper into crisis.

Why, you ask?

Well, you'll see in a bit.

In the meantime, I recovered. The old saying that time heals all wounds isn't quite right, but it certainly scabs them over as long as you don't pick at the scabs. In the two months after my first shower with Kallen, I reached my normal weight again, got back on a nine-hours-a-night sleeping schedule, and amused myself by annoying the Japanese judges.

During that time, I learned Kallen's dirty little secret: she wouldn't let the court convict me. She'd shred the new Constitution if she needed to, but one way or another Lelouch vi Britannia would go free.

However...

Since she preferred _not_ to buy her country's savior's life by subverting said country's democracy, she ordered me to get working on a valid defense. Six failed drafts later, we created a halfway decent one. (My favorite draft involved a sugar rush from excessive twinkie consumption, but Kallen burned it).

In return, I told her a more-or-less unedited version of my life for the past few months. Her jaw dropped lower each time, and she called me by turns (and I quote) "the biggest liar I've ever met" and "Prince Houdini". She also worried what I'd do after they acquitted me.

In any event, the Britannian monarchy teetered on the brink of collapse as I sat in my cell. And that, dear readers, is where I shall pick up the story.

* * *

"Lelouch?"

"Mmm?"

"I want to ask you something."

I stopped munching my torte, laid down my tort, and sat up. Owing to Morphy's long-term grudge against me, the torte crumbled on the tort and left greasy splotches on the paper. Kallen lay on my bed (if your thoughts are running in less-than-savory directions, the answer is _no_), staring at the ceiling and twirling her foot in absentminded circles. Her eyes shone a bit in the moonlight.

"Shoot," I said.

"Why did you do it?"

I knew this question was coming sooner or later. I stretched my arms and legs to buy time, but Kallen sat up, resting her head on her hands and looking at me intently. For a change, I decided to tell the truth.

"So Nunnally wouldn't have to," I said.

It wasn't the answer she'd expected. Her eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head to one side.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

I ran my hands over my face and realized how stupid it sounded to kill millions of people for my little sister. A sigh escaped my lips. I began carefully.

"It's…hard to explain," I said. "The thing with Nunners is—_was_—that she was always so…I dunno, _sweet_, I guess. Like, diabetes-inducing sweet."

She smiled.

"I think I know what you're talking about," she said.

"No, you don't," I said. "Not really. You should've seen her when she was five years old. Bounciest, craziest little optimist I've ever seen. Thought the world was made of sugarplums and fairy dust. Then Mom died and the tutors got her."

"She changed," Kallen said.

"Yeah…" I said. "It wasn't _obvious_. I mean, not unless you knew her. She still _seemed_ like the same kid, but there was something missing. After each poisoning, murder, televised execution, whatever....she just got more callous. Cried less. Recovered faster. That sort of thing. She has this outer crust now that I can't get through, like she's built her cheerfulness into a mask…"

I realized too late that I was talking like she was still alive. Kallen's voice became suspicious.

"You started a war to bring her out of it?" she said.

I groped for an answer—not a _clever_ answer or the answer that would allow me to manipulate somebody, but an honest one. It was a novel experience.

"I guess…No. Not exactly. I—heh…It's kinda naïve when you put it like this …"

"Like what?" she asked.

I laughed softly to myself and wondered if she would get the joke. Probably not. It takes a cynic to laugh at something like that.

"I wanted to create a world where she didn't have to wear that mask," I said. "That is to say…it would be better for _everyone_ that way, wouldn't it? I'd do all the rotten stuff as dictator of the universe by keeping the _other_ ruthless bastards away from people like Shirley and Euphie and Nunners and…Whoah....Wow, I just realized how utterly and completely I failed."

We sat in silence for a while.

"You could still do it, you know," she said.

"What?"

"Create the world Nunners would've wanted. After they let you off—"

"_If_ they let me off," I replied.

Kallen's head snapped up.

"You'll win your case," she said.

I turned to look out the narrow window. The cool night air beckoned to me, so I unlatched it and rotated the knob. It squealed as the glass sheet rotated outward. The bars stayed in place.

"Where do I go from here?" I asked.

Kallen laughed. It might've been the first time I'd heard her really, _really_ laugh. She didn't laugh like Karen Stadtfeld the sickly high school student, or Kallen the triumphant Ace of the Elevens. She laughed like Kallen Kozuki, and I liked it.

"You're eighteen," she said. "Both of us are. Most people don't even have a _job_ at our age."

"Heh…"

She clapped and rubbed her hands together.

"Soooooooo…" she said. "As one terrorist to another, what do you say: World peace by the time we're forty?"

I shook her hand and smiled.

"Done," I said.

Kallen walked behind me and wrapped an arm across my shoulders. I didn't complain.

"I'm starved," she announced. "Any chance we could get a pizza, or would you prefer—"

_Now, C.C.!_ I thought.

Forty tons of steel and chobham armor slammed into the prison wall. Dust flew everywhere. Pulverized chunks of concrete rained from the ceiling. In the hall, a battery of heavy machine guns drowned out the alarm's screeches. One by one, the guns went silent. A green-haired woman emerged from her knightmare just as Lucy twisted the door off its hinges. The light flickered and went out. We all looked at each other in the moonlight, and the glow of Lucy's red eyes. Kallen stared at us, open-mouthed.

"You...you betrayed me _again!_ You son of a bitch, you betrayed me again!"

"For what it's worth, I told you you the truth," I said. "You can believe it or not. Your choice."

I grabbed C.C.'s hand and climbed aboard. Lucy scampered up the knightmare's arm on tiptoes before gracefully disappearing into the cockpit. As we floated into the night, I saluted Kallen and bowed deeply.

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a democracy to squelch and an empire to win. Until next time, Kallen. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"


	29. Turn 29: Lucy

**Chapter 29: Lucy**

**

* * *

  
**

_**Imperial Decree #1: Concerning Diclonii**_

_All children held in the Kamakura Facility will be released following administration of A__cute Hereditary Diclonism-Induced Aggression Genetic Therapy and removal of their horns. Aforesaid children to remain wards of the state until such time as homes are found for them…_

_**Imperial Decree #2: Human Experimentation **_

_Under the new regime, experimentation on human beings or individuals with significant portions of human DNA is expressly forbidden. Humanness to be determined by Imperial Mandate, and at the moment is limited to: Homo Sapiens Sapiens, Homo Sapiens Diclonius, C.C., members of the nobility and royal family save for the subject of the V-2 Research Project._

_**Imperial Decree #3: Citizenship **_

_A five-year phased emancipation of all serfs held by—but not limited to those held by—the Britannian nobility is hereby commenced. Newly emancipated serfs will not be conferred status as "freemen", as this title has been abolished as unnecessary._

_All titles of nobility to be eliminated. Numbers and Britannians of various castes to share status as "citizens". But don't address each other as "Citizen Such-and-Such". That's just silly. It's also Jacobin, and we might line you up against a wall for it._

_**Imperial Decree #4: Governance Reappraisal Order**_

_Whereas democratic government has proved itself incapable of tending to Britannian citizens' general welfare and common weal, it is hereby abolished. All powers, including but not limited to those previously held by Commons, Lords, and the Courts, are concentrated under the Executive until such time as the Britannian and former subject peoples are capable of creating a workable Republic._

_That ain't happening for a long time, folks…_

_

* * *

  
_

We sat in the darkness. The power had gone out thanks to the Spreckels & Harriman Electric Workers' Union, but Lelouch soldiered on, scratching decree after decree onto parchment by candlelight.

He even wrote one for me:

* * *

_**Imperial Decree #5: On Crimes Against Humanity**_

_All individuals involved in the Kamakura Project will be retroactively charged under Imperial Decree #2 with human experimentation and—by dint of their alteration of healthy infants into Diclonii—crimes against humanity. Shoot without trial. Director Kurama is to be turned over to the custody of Diclonius #1._

_Have fun, Lucy._

* * *

The sound of a bolt being thrown open echoed through the hall. At the room's end, a caped figure stomped through the door. His boots clopped on the marble floor, now dark-gray in the twilight. He nearly tripped over a footstool—an annoyance he repaid by kicking it to splinters.

"_What_ are you doing here?" Suzaku demanded.

Lelouch looked up. His expression seemed almost bored as he rested his head on his hand and chewed at the end of his quill pen. He swept his fingers toward the pile of parchment.

"Writing decrees," he said. "I can deal with that pack of lawyers in the morning."

_BANG!_

Suzaku slammed his hands against the desk. Lelouch jerked slightly. Automatically, my vectors emerged and hovered millimeters from the Knight of One's throat. Suzaku made his position much, much worse when he grabbed the front of Lelouch's robe and pulled his former friend to eye level.

"Listen," he hissed. "I didn't betray Britannia so you could _play around_ while your coup collapses."

Suzaku flung his hand toward the window.

"You've given Parliament time to organize!" he said. "Why didn't you arrest them as soon as this whole thing started?"

Lelouch chuckled softly, and shrugged.

"Perhaps I'm feeling self-destructive," he said. "I'm sure you can sympathize…"

Suzaku released Lelouch's collar and shoved him into his chair again. It creaked. Unlike its occupant, it was old and unused to abuse.

"The workers are _striking_, Lelouch! Remember last time?"

For once, I agreed with him. Unfortunately.

Deliberately, Lelouch leaned back and rested his right leg on the desk, crossing his left over it a few seconds later.

"Mmm…Hmmm," he said. "Time for a whiff of grapeshot, methinks…"

"Time for you to get off your ass and _honor our deal_!" Suzaku shot back. "What d'you think you're doing, anyway? You're not gonna be alive long enough to enforce _any_ of these laws."

_Not alive long enough…?_

I felt a cold lurch in my stomach.

"Lelouch, what's he talking about?!"

Lelouch steepled his fingers in front of his chest and looked at Suzaku. When the Knight of One didn't answer, Lelouch sighed and replied in a weary voice.

"Suzaku and I made a deal," he said. "I'll stage a coup that puts Parliament in its place. The world's hatred will focus on me, and then Suzaku'll jump in and save the day. He'll kill me."

"No…" I whispered.

"…Yes. I'll be remembered as the guy who _almost_ strangled democracy in its cradle. My death will be the wakeup call that Suzaku needs to push through democratic reforms. It'll be easy since he's the _de facto_ head of the military."

I couldn't breathe. I needed air, and somebody to hold me and say everything would be okay. My arms wrapped protectively around my chest. I felt my shoulders shaking.

"And—and then…?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"Doesn't matter," he said. "I'm not going through with it."

Suzaku's eyes bugged out. Before I could react, he launched himself over the desk, aiming a weird spinning kick at the Lelouch head. I barely—_barely_—recovered quickly enough to stop him. My vectors caught Suzaku's foot in midair and threw him across the room. I heard a crunch as he collided with the wall. His arm bent in a direction that it shouldn't go.

Lelouch stood up. Hands behind his back, he walked over to his fallen friend. For all his feigned indifference, I heard him exhale with relief when Suzaku moved and groaned. He leaned over and whispered into Suzaku's ear.

"Stupid sort of promise when you think about it, Kururugi. Humanity's problems won't go away just because _one_ tyrant dies…"

"Then…then what—" Suzaku gasped.

Lelouch smiled. His eyes took on a far-off look as he stared at the silver-and-black tapestry on the wall.

"Isn't it obvious?" he said. "I'll take V.V.'s code and rule as an immortal emperor until a real democracy sprouts under me. And then…well, let's just say the Requiem will come _late_ rather than never."

Suzaku tried to laugh—a sick, wheezy snarl.

"So after all the death you caused, you'll wait to reincarnate and spend eternity fooling around with that green-haired slut, huh?"

Something caught Lelouch's eye—a pink paper crane hidden by the lamp like an Easter egg. He picked it up and spun it between his thumb and forefinger. It crinkled as he unfolded it, but nothing was written there.

"Well?" Suzaku said.

Lelouch seemed to snap out of a dream.

"Eh? Oh…I'll play my part, no worries. Fair play all around: I'll give my code to some other poor fool before I dance the hempen jig."

"Dance the what?" Suzaku said.

Lelouch rolled his eyes.

"Before they hang me," he said.

"And not a moment too soon," Suzaku replied.

Lelouch turned to me and waved his hand at Suzaku.

"Take him away—_unharmed_—and confiscate his Lancelot activation key. I want you airborne and threatening protesters in half an hour. You know what to do with my memoirs if this collapses."

I bowed, wrapping vectors around Suzaku's arms and legs.

"Yes, Lelouch," I said.

"And Lucy?"

"Yes?"

I thought I saw the faintest smile on his lips, though his voice stayed deadpan. I blushed just the same.

"Be safe."

"Yes, Lelouch."

* * *

I dragged Suzaku out and closed the door behind me. Okay, I _could_ have carried him out, but it was much more fun to hear his head thump against the furniture. Clumsy me.

It became much worse for the Knight of One when I got him alone. The hallway was deserted. Its purple carpets looked black in the darkness, and I'd done enough research to know that its walls absorbed sound. All the better to muffle screams.

"Why do you obey Lelouch?" Suzaku asked.

His voice would have sounded weak except for the undercurrent of hatred that kept it steady. I looked back. Friction from the carpet had frayed his uniform and rubbed his face raw.

"Let me guess," I said. "You want to win me over."

"Because what you're doing is _wrong_," he said.

My vectors pinched his shoulders and hauled him up until we were face to face. He looked like he was hanging from a pair of meathooks. (I'll let _you_ figure out which stage of my life gave me that little metaphor).

"You have _no_ idea how lucky you are that Lelouch wants you alive," I said. "I know what you did to him. You think _I _of all people wouldn't notice, you sanctimonious son of a bitch? Do you know what it's like to see the worst part of your life reflected in the eyes of the person you love? _DO YOU?!_"

_You will_, I thought.

I tightened a vector around his broken rib and squeezed. He screamed. His body writhed deliciously in the air, but I couldn't bring myself to smile. I pulled him close so that I didn't have to shout. His face contorted in pain as I dug my vectors deeper. Good. Pain concentrates the mind wonderfully.

"Let me tell you a secret," I said. "I…killed…Euphie. Planned it all. I chopped the stupid bitch into mincemeat because I wanted to make Lelouch emperor."

His eyes widened. Oh, he heard me all right.

"And you know something, Suzaku? You'll never get revenge for it. That's the best part: I killed your fiancé and made you betray your best friend….and now you've got _nothing_."

I let go and dropped him in a heap. He breathed in sobbing gasps as he tried to pump air into his lungs and retch onto the carpet at the same time. I grabbed his hands and dragged him to his cell.

* * *

Morning.

Lelouch took a breath. We stood outside the Britannian Gallery of Art, a massive building they'd modeled on the Louvre; right down the glass pyramid. A robin twittered from a copse of trees a few meters to our right. Three regiments of police waited behind us, flicking used cigarettes onto the grass. Beyond them, Purist troops from the Household Guard occupied the rolling hills.

If this scene sounds unfamiliar, you were probably born after the Revolution. When I tell people about the coup of 15th Ventôse, they imagine it occurring in the stuffy concrete slum that surrounds the Gallery today. Thirty years ago, it was different. Lelouch's ancestors had built the place as a sanctuary. It was their last bastion against the cities, a place where they relaxed in antiseptic comfort while the masses rotted. Air pollution? Traffic? The royal family laughed at these while they surveyed their Rembrandts and Picassos. The Empress Nunnally Thoroughfare hadn't yet gouged through the Gallery's fields and woods.

Today graffiti has replaced the Rembrandts, and tarmac smothers the field. The heady days when people believed that democracy would solve all their problems have vanished just as completely, like smoke on the wind.

But I'm getting maudlin. I have a coup to narrate.

Britannia had democratized unevenly. As it turns out, the place wasn't a paradise of racial harmony. Anglo-Norman-Britannians—thirty million of them, give or take—sat at the apex of the social pyramid. Here resided your Ashfords and Darltons, Bradleys and Guilfords. Germano-Britannians, fifteen million strong, sat a little below them. A few came from illustrious houses like Weinberg and Gottwald; most didn't. And below _them_, the remainder of Britannia's Western European population divided itself into Poles, Magyars, French, Scandinavians, Irish, and the rest—so painstakingly filtered and insular that they might as well have lived in separate ghettoes. Their ancestors had come to Britannia looking for opportunity. They'd been disappointed.

Under the new Constitution non-citizen Numbers couldn't vote. And since Britannians meant "Western European Descent" when they said "Citizen", their piece of paper disenfranchised almost a billion people. Anglo-Norman-Britannians supported the Purists. Germano-Britannians supported the Moderates. The twenty million non-German, non-Anglo Britannians just wanted to keep the Numbers in their place. Everybody else didn't care.

So much for democracy.

Here's the problem, though: the Purists controlled the House of Lords, but they didn't control Commons. Lelouch's choice of Prime Minister represented everything that the lower house loathed: Kalaris was a pompous fool whose pedigree stretched further than his trains of thought.

Coincidentally, anarchists chose that moment to threaten to blow up Parliament. Rumors flew that the Numbers had planned it all. Everyone sniffed a second revolution, and the House of Commons fled to a prearranged spot: the Britannian Gallery of Art. The Emperor's last son was waiting for them.

…which brings me back to Lelouch, standing on the front step. C.C. waited at his elbow, resting her head on his shoulder. She tilted her gaze up.

"Pendragon's suburbs are getting restless," she said. "Arrest them now and get it over with."

Lelouch shook his head. His black bangs fell over his eyes, but he brushed them away.

"We need to make this look legal," he said.

The prince's witch raised an eyebrow.

"A _legal_ coup?" she said.

"Precisely."

I was afraid he'd say that.

Lelouch's face betrayed no apprehension, and I didn't blame him. Everything about him seemed so calm and regal that morning. The ruby studs on his stole and belt glittered bright red in the sunlight. His cloak seemed to float over the ground, untouched by the morning dew. It was white and gold, like a Pope's funeral robe…or an Emperor's.

I coughed.

"L-Lelouch?"

"Mmm?"

"Maybe…um…it's just…I don't think we should narrow our options," I said.

He laughed.

"Oh, dear…" he said. "Haven't you heard? I'm just a humble prince offering his services to Parliament in the wake of a revolutionary plot."

"Lelouch…"

He held up his hand and nodded to the men standing at either side of the Gallery doors.

"Shush," he said. "I know what I'm doing."

The doors opened. We walked through cream-colored galleries with vaulted ceilings and checkerboard floors, illuminated by yellow lamps. Statues of centaurs and huntresses running with stags on their heels glared at us. Carved stone vines wound around arches and columns—some of which were statues themselves. They're all smashed now.

C.C. walked by Lelouch's side, whispering.

"We lost the most troublesome MPs in transit, so you'll have the floor," she said.

"Mmm-hmm…"

"I have a knightmare waiting just in case," she said.

"Mmm-hmm…"

C.C. stopped. She grabbed Lelouch's cheek and turned him until he faced her.

"Pay attention!" she snapped. "And for the sake of all that's holy, don't get carried away and start making speeches. You're not Caesar, and don't want to look like him."

I hadn't seen her angry before.

_Is it possible that she cares…?_

_No_, I thought. _It's not_.

Lelouch tut-tutted her and brushed her hand away. We turned a corner. The MP's waited for us in fold-out metal chairs amid the statues. They wore visors. Lelouch threw out his hands. His voice echoed against the domed ceiling.

"People of Britannia!" he shouted. "My men and I have sworn an oath. What we want is a republic founded upon true liberty, civil liberty, representation of the people—and I swear we shall have it!"

The hostile crowd must have awakened something in Lelouch. He stood taller. Energy seemed to pulse through him, only to release itself in frantic gestures. His words built castles in the air and then blasted Parliament down from those ethereal heights for their sins. As the speech wore on, the MPs grew silent and sullen.

Lelouch paused when a man in a red jacket stood up.

"I'm wondering, Prince: where's the proof of this conspiracy?"

Lelouch smiled like a teacher about to chide a student. He held his hand out to C.C. as if beckoning from something.

"No problem," he said. "I have all the documentation—"

His eyes glazed over for a second as if he'd entered another world. Then they widened. His head snapped toward the witch.

"What do you mean you don't have—"

He clapped his mouth shut and retreated into his mind again. I felt adrenaline pumping through my body and wondered if it was too late to arrest them all. Lelouch shook his head, as if clearing it. I heard laughter in the audience.

"People…er--of Britannia…" he said. "I am the king of the day…The gods of war and fortune—ah—fortune and war back me up. If I'm Caesar, let any among you play the part of Brutus…"

I'd seen him play that gambit before with the Black Knights. I didn't think it would work now. I tugged at his shoulder.

"Lelouch, you don't know what you're saying," I whispered.

C.C.'s eyes locked on mine.

"Get him out of here," she said. "I'll muster the troops."

"No!" Lelouch said. "I can still pull this off. Wait a moment, and I'll—"

"LONG LIVE DEMOCRACY!" someone shrieked.

"Now," C.C. said.

I nodded. Lelouch tried to shake me off—unsuccessfully. The MPs moved forward now, shaking their fists and screaming "outlaw him!" and "death to the tyrant!" A fountain pen struck Lelouch on the shoulder. That was only the beginning. Books and paperweights flew at us from all around. One knocked Lelouch down. Our soldiers shielded us as I dragged him outside.

Lelouch stumbled out on shaky legs, blinking at the sunlight. He looked from me to C.C. to his troops. Blood flowed into his eyes from the cut on his forehead. He wiped it off and then just _stood there_, looking at it.

"I…er…"

C.C. pushed past him.

"Forward!" she yelled. "Sweep them out!"

The soldiers cheered but didn't move. Then another voice came from Lelouch's personal knightmare above us.

"Noblemen! A bunch of commoners attacked the _last_ of the royal line and you're just going to sit there?"

Excited murmurs passed through the crowd. I thanked the gods that Schneizel had admitted that Lelouch's Diclonism gambit had been a bluff. Otherwise…

"How many of your fathers served the Britannian royal house?" the knightmare boomed. "Grandfathers? Great-grandfathers? How many of you come from families so ancient that you can't _remember_ how many generations it's been?"

Louder murmurs.

"You want to let these people beat you? A bunch of _peasants_?!"

That clinched it. Murmurs turned into shouts, and the riot police surged through the doors. Books and paperweights met firehoses, tear gas, and clubs…

…and all because of a speech from one of those "peasants".

_Well done, Shirley_.

* * *

C.C. dusted her hands off and curled around Lelouch's neck. He watched the violence with a look of detached resignation.

"Well, that's that," she said.

"Not quite, witch."

We both looked at him.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Lelouch smiled that knowing smile of his and watched the horizon. Grass stains had already rubbed off on his robes.

"Unless I'm mistaken, there's a _very_ pissed off group of Japanese terrorists who won't take kindly to this," he said.

C.C. closed her eyes. A few seconds later, Lelouch laughed again. I remembered for the thousandth time how much I envied her for that telepathic link.

"I can beat Kallen," I said.

Lelouch looked at the Lancelot and then at me.

"I'm not so sure," he said.


	30. Endgame: Lelouch

**Chapter 30: Lelouch**

_The best thing about Geass is that it takes a long, long time to wear off. Forever, in fact.  
_

_My brother doesn't look up when I sit outside his cell. His body moulds itself to his chair rather than the other way around. With his foot, Schneizel pushes a pebble back and forth across the concrete._

"_Hello, Brother."_

"_Hello, Lelouch," he replies._

"_Well, well…it appears I've won our little game."_

_Schneizel's gloves tighten on the arm rests. His head stays low, but he looks through the bangs of his long hair at me. A smile appears._

"_Ah, but for how long?" he asks._

_I pull up a chair, kicking my feet up and resting them on the olive-green bars._

"_Well put, Schneizel. Well put…"_

"_And?"_

"_And I think you have a point."_

_I see a flash of the old Schneizel. He sits straighter and taps his hand on his cheek._

"_When will you betray the Purists, I wonder?" he says._

"_Already have. Geassed the lot of 'em."_

_He says "oh" and regards me through interlaced fingers._

"_Something occurs to me," he says._

"_Hmm?"_

"_I wonder if the world's moved beyond the Age of Heroes. We might be a pair of fossils who didn't get the memo."_

_A shrug._

"_It's possible," I concede._

"_So…" he says._

"_Don't think I forgot the…debt I owe you, Schneizel."_

_He laughs again and throws his arms out._

"_Wouldn't dream of it," he says. "So what's it going to be? Execution? The rack? Or are you going to flay me alive and feed me to the dogs like you threatened in the hospital?"_

_I suddenly remember Schneizel's goons holding me down and running their grubby fingers in my eyes. Revenge will be all the sweeter for it._

"_Too bad about Nunnally," he says._

_I smile a secret smile, because I suspect something that he doesn't. The contact lens comes off. I meet his eyes._

"_Schneizel?"_

_His body goes rigid as the geass takes hold._

"_Yes, Your Majesty?"_

"_Start feeling like you're drowning."_

_

* * *

  
_

An empty throne room…

…Doubtless symbolic of something.

I sat on the aforementioned throne, waiting. This wasn't the room you've seen a hundred times in historical documentaries—the football-field red-carpeted monstrosity that my father loved. Nope. This was the private audience chamber—small, intimate, and unused since the days of Emperor Norton. The lower walls were of old oak; carpenters had carved them from the hull of the _RMS Constitution_ after it sent its nineteenth French ship to the bottom. The ceiling was granite. They'd built it like Charlemagne's Aachen in miniature.

Archways with alternating black-and-yellow stripes stood at either end of the room. Incense burners hung from copper chains. They flanked me on either side. The throne itself was a marvel of Spartan simplicity: a few slabs of wood held together with iron tangs. It sat on a platform. Steps ran up to it.

The stained glass window behind me provided the room's only illumination, which suited me quite well. Dark and quiet as a tomb, I think the saying goes.

A girl stumbled in, right on schedule. She wore a yellow dress whose skirt trailed about her ankles. Her hair was draped behind her, gathered in a pigtail so long that it reached her waist. She wore flats—blue, I think.

Poor Shirley. Never a glimmer of fashion sense.

"Lelouch?"

Her voice bounced off the rafters. Not a musical voice, perhaps, but a familiar one. Friendly, warm…that sort of thing. Too bad.

"Hello, Shirley."

She gave a start when she saw me.

"Hey, Lulu. You kinda scared me there…are you okay?"

"Fine," I said. "Look, Shirley…"

She held up a hand.

"I know what you're going to say."

"Oh?"

"You want me to leave you," she said.

In a nutshell. A trifle unfair, perhaps, but basically…

Did I detect a twinge of regret?

"It's for your own safety," I said. "C.C. shouldn't have given you that knightmare in the first place. In case you haven't noticed, bodies have a tendency to pile up around me…"

Shirley shrugged. She took a step forward, and her shoes' _flip-flap_ echoed.

"Then I'll stay with you," she said. "You shouldn't be alone in a life like that…And besides," she added with a giggle, "I saved your coup, didn't I?"

"Yes, but—"

She waved a finger reprovingly. A bit forced, perhaps, but a nice gesture.

"Hush," she said.

I opened my mouth…

"And don't you _dare_ give me that 'you're too nice to be mixed up in this' speech, Lelouch Lamperouge! Don't you dare!"

…and promptly shut it again

"I lost the right to say that a long time ago," she said.

"But—"

She shushed me.

"You're a terrorist," she said. "You know what that makes me?"

I groaned. It pained me to say it, but…

"My accomplice," I muttered.

"Right."

She crossed her arms behind her back and stepped softly up to the throne. Her neck craned forward. With those wide green eyes, she looked like a curious kitten or ferret or something. Almost sickeningly cute. The dark green bow in her hair (awful, _awful_ fashion sense…) only added to the effect.

This was going to be harder than I thought.

"I don't love you," I lied.

Her smile wavered, but didn't snap.

"I…figured as much, I guess. Doesn't matter."

"Eh?" I said.

"Doesn't matter," Shirley said. "Because as dumb as it may sound to you, Mr. high-and-mighty-emotionless-emperor, I happen to love _you_ very much. And I want to protect you anyway. As a…as a friend, if I have to."

So that's it then. I sighed and prepared to lose a friend; perhaps the only one I had left. I swept my hand in front of my eyes and removed the contact lens.

"Shirley Fenette," I said. "I, Lelouch Lamperouge, hereby command you: Forget! Forget you knew me. Forget who I am. Forget the bonds that tie you to me and prevent you from living a happy life. Forget that you love me, and that I…er…love you…well, not exclusively, perhaps, but…"

Nothing happened. Instead of becoming a stiffened zombie, Shirley smiled at me with her hands on her hips.

"C.C. gave me a pair of Geass-cancelling contacts," she said.

"Drat."

* * *

The sandblasted desert around Pendragon was as good a spot as any for the last battle. Infantry baked in their armor. Five hundred Purist noblemen sat in air conditioned cockpits, but the footmen shouldn't have begrudged them this. Knightmare pilots had received a little "motivational speech" before the battle courtesy of geass. They would die at their posts, if necessary. The sun glinted off the knightmares as they occupied the heights—a purple line that poked out from the ridges like a row of teeth A few cirrus clouds ambled across the sky.

"They shape up well," Lucy said, pointing in the distance.

I followed her eyes to the mass of Black Knights advancing toward us. I recognized them as her former strike team, and agreed. Their knightmares seemed to waver in the heat haze as they scrambled up the slope like a swarm of ants…on hover boards. (Yeah, that metaphor didn't come out quite as well as I expected). I ordered our left flank back. If they could draw Kallen's troops into the rocky defile behind them…

"And just _why_ is that pink sword necessary?" C.C. asked.

I clutched the hilt defensively.

"Um…because it's awesome?"

"It's plastic," she said.

Kallen didn't take the bait. Unfortunately, I'd taught her well. Her own left wing swung further and further to the side, threatening to take me off my prepared ground. Another mile of drift and we'd be in the open, where her superior mobility would crush me. She'd arranged her main body in an echelon, like Frederick the Great's at Leuthen.

…But I was no Charles of Lorraine.

"They're edging away from us," I said. "Let's convince them to stop."

A blaze of green under the sand. Gefjun nets powered down the knightmares on Kallen's left flank. A shout from the heights, and my right wing fell upon them just as the nets shut off. Steel crashed, cannons thrummed, and the Purists cut through the Black Knights before they could reactivate.

Kallen's troops withdrew, with my men hard on their heels. Before I could celebrate, a red flash drilled through the pursuers. Kallen's knightmare slicked the sand with molten metal.

"Good," I said. "She's committed herself. Hit their right."

Then an odd thing happened: the mass of machines wavered and pulled back. Kallen skated backward through the same path of wreckage she'd arrived through. She reserved the fukushuhado for those knightmares stupid enough to block her retreat. Few did.

Something feral twinkled in Lucy's eyes. She hung by her vector outside of the Lancelot's cockpit.

"Shall I follow her?" she asked.

"No…wait a moment."

Kallen's retreat gave me a better view of her army. I mentally weighed the odds. Still slightly in her favor, but with Lucy in the Lancelot…

Then Kallen's speakers blared across the battlefield with the most improbable message of the week: she wanted a parley. Lucy's harsh laughter cut through the offer.

"An obvious trick at the last minute," she said. "Let me kill her, Lelouch."

Except for the last part, I was inclined to agree. Then again, my guesses had been flying a little wide recently. I turned to C.C.

"Assessment?"

She shrugged.

"Might be a trick, but I doubt it. Kallen isn't the type to break off battle like that."

Lucy jumped down. Despite the twenty foot drop, her landing could have come from a gymnast's floor routine.

"Come to think of it…" she said. "Do it, Lelouch. If Kallen's negotiating, she won't be in her knightmare. If anything goes wrong, the Lancelot can get across the battlefield and turn the Guren into scrap metal."

I licked my lips and considered. A grain of sand got in my mouth and refused to budge when I tried to spit it out. I put my arms around both girls' shoulders.

"Right," I said. "Let's play some diplomacy."

* * *

We met in a burlap tent. It sat midway between the Black Knights and the Purists, where both sides' artillery couldn't reach it. It had no walls, but even so, the interior was hot and stuffy. The brown shadows from the ceiling were terminated abruptly by solid lines of sunlit sand on the edges.

Kallen and company sat in aluminum beach chairs someone had scrounged for the purpose. I looked at her men--tough-looking Japanese all, but not so tough that they didn't roll up the sleeves of their uniforms. Their skin had turned pink in the sun.

In short, it was as anticlimactic a setting as you could ask for. C.C. and I sat down. She insisted that they provide a third seat for Cheese-kun, which delayed proceedings slightly. At last, everything was ready. I fired my opening volley.

"I have a few more tricks up my sleeve, Kallen."

Her jaw tightened.

"I guessed as much," she said.

"The Black Knights can't win."

"I know _that_, too."

While I processed that statement, Kallen slurped the last bit of water from a blue plastic bottle.

"Why didn't _I _get the seat with the cupholder?" I demanded.

She shrugged.

"Dunno…Must have something to do with being a genocidal dictator. Or something."

"Fair enough," I said. "In any event…If you know you can't win, then what's the point of this battle?"

Kallen looked at me, running her finger along the bottle's rim. A draft blew in. It was dry and hot, but it hit my sunburned shoulders and produced an odd chill.

"Let's say you destroy the Black Knights," she said. "How many men will you lose? Half? At least that. And I'll personally take down the Lancelot, even if Lucy kills me in the process."

If you've read this far, you probably realize that I didn't want Kallen to die. I wonder if she knew it, then. Ah, well.

I started to answer, but C.C. spoke first.

"Pardon me, Miss Kozuki, but I think you're missing something. You've just described a scenario where the Purists die, Lucy dies, the Black Knights die, and the Elevens' last ace dies…"

She smirked at Kallen.

"…so where's the downside?"

_Well played, witch. Well played._

_I thought you'd like it._

C.C. leaned forward, snatched Kallen's water bottle, and asked the Eleven guards for a refill. Kallen just sat there with an _oh shit _look on her face while C.C. patted Cheese-kun and curled up in her chair like a contented kitten. Unfortunately, an irritating busybody chose _that_ moment to intrude…and shoot my plan to ribbons.

"I'm afraid you can't do that, Brother."

My jaw dropped when I heard the voice. Even C.C. gasped. I bolted out of the chair as if it had bitten me.

"NUNNALLY?!"

There she was—flowing brown hair, pink dress and all. And yet…something seemed different. The wide eyes and pert smile had faded away, replaced by a look of determination I'd seen far too often in this war. I just never thought I'd see it from my sister. She held a scepter in her hand with a plastic top that looked like a button. Her voice still seemed childlike, but I detected a hint of iron under it…

…Or maybe I was seeing her for the first time.

"Kallen, if you're holding my sister hostage, I'll—"

_Now_ Nunnally smiled. Not the chipper, toothy grins I was accustomed to, but the sad smile of farewells.

"I'm holding _them_ hostage," she said. "And you. And both armies."

If not for the chair, I would have fallen on my backside. As it was, I collapsed into my seat so hard that I nearly upended it.

"How…?" I mumbled.

But my mind was already working. And so was C.C.'s.

Sayako served Nunnally as faithfully as she served me. Ergo, she kept my sister informed. Nunners couldn't countermand my order to kill Villeta, but—

_--but she warned Jeremiah_, C.C. said. _Hence the botched operation…_

I felt a twinge of guilt for the agony my sister must have felt when her attempt to save everybody had miscarried and killed her guardian…and friend. But Jeremiah lived through the attack, and Nunners being Nunners, she'd felt guilty…

_She entered him into the Siegfried program._

_Right you are, witch…_

See, Jeremiah had sworn to serve _Marianne's children_, not just me. And knowing Nunners, she must have convinced him that her plan would save both of us from whatever mischief I was up to…

I slapped my legs and stood up. The urge to hug my sister was almost irresistible, but I _barely_ managed to fight it off. You have no idea how much I wanted to feel those delicate arms around me again…but family reunions could wait.

"Okay, Nunners, I'm stumped. You enlisted Jeremiah…"

"Yes."

"…knowing all along that I was Zero…"

She winced and looked away.

"Y—yes…"

Rather than exploit her moment of weakness, I paused. I've never decided whether that was kindness or stupidity on my part. She bit her lip and gripped the scepter more tightly.

"Go on, Lelouch."

"…And you probably have Jeremiah waiting to intercept Lucy if she tries anything. Am I right so far?"

"Yes, Lelouch."

I crossed my arms behind my back and paced in front of her. Kallen watched the exchange in silence, probably too caught up in our silent "I know you know I know" game to plan her own countermoves. Just as well. Nunners had probably anticipated her reactions anyway.

"Yeah, I get all that," I said. "But how are you holding all of us hostage when your entire force consists of Jeremiah Gottwald and your crazy physics student friend…"

_The explosion!_ C.C. and I both thought simultaneously.

Let me review: Nunners and the brilliant-yet-loony Nina Einstein were alone in their desert laboratory in Alamogordo. The forces I sent to capture them were blown to smithereens. And the delivery mechanism must be…

_Remember what Schneizel was saying the day you rescued me?_ I thought.

C.C.'s mind leaped from mental stepping-stone to mental stepping-stone along the path I sent her. She drew the same conclusion.

_The unauthorized launch from Cambodia_, she said. _A satellite of some kind…_

_Precisely…_

I rubbed my forehead and there I was again, back in the dry heat of the desert. Nunnally wore a look of concern as I snapped out of it.

"Oh…crap," I said.

I could tell she was _really_ trying to look unaffected when I came out of my trance, but she couldn't hide the relieved smile. It's always nice to know that your brother _didn't_ go catatonic when you dumped a year's worth of schemes onto his head in a minute and a half.

"I call it Damocles," she said. "And I'm using it to end this stupidity right now."

Kallen narrowed her eyes.

"Give it up, Nunnally. You won't fire it."

Nunnally's face scrunched as she huffed and stamped her foot at the Ace of the Elevens. It would've looked cute if she wasn't packing a nuclear arsenal.

"Wouldn't I?" she said.

Kallen looked at me.

"_Would_ she?"

I gave her only possible answer: I threw back my head and laughed maniacally until my sides ached and I fell out of my chair. And then I laughed some more.

…Oh, we were both our parents' children all right.

* * *

Hours later, Nunnally and I had our reunion in my former bedroom at Pendragon palace. She'd exchanged her ridiculous pink skirt for an equally ridiculous dress made of blue gauze. We sat on the bed in silence.

"I could geass you and grab the Damocles," I said.

"Contacts, Brother."

"Ah…"

More silence. I let my eyes stroll across the room, revisiting old memories. The pool cue Cornelia had smacked Clovis with hung on my wall, hammered to a gold plaque. I'd traded Cornelia my favorite horse for it. (No great loss, since I never rode her. The horse, I mean.)

"I could have stamped out the protesters if I—"

"You weren't willing to shed that much blood," she said. "Not after the trial."

…True enough. My first awkward attempts to paint toy soldiers marched along my dresser. Splotches of paint far too large for pupils gave them what looked like black eyes. My paint job had ignored their legs, and below the waist, they were bare pewter. They were dull, even in the moonlight.

And above my bed hung a tasseled rope that Euphie swung on as a child. And on my sideboard rested a glass ball with a coral inside it that Schneizel had given me for my sixth birthday. And above the window was Clovis's first painting, which he'd signed "All My Love, Lelouch" in burgundy paint. He'd always liked that color. And on the windowsill…

Enough.

"Nunners, I—"

"Yes, Lelouch?"

"I never wanted to hurt Euphie. Believe what you want about me, but I didn't mean to kill her."

She looked down at the folded hands on her lap.

"I…I know. She knew, too."

"Come again?"

She looked up. A tear ran down her cheek. Always the sentimentalist, dear little Nunners.

"She knew you'd never hurt her intentionally."

I let a bitter laugh escape my throat.

"Yeah…" I said. "Wouldn't _that_ be nice?"

Nunnally took a deep breath. Her thumbs fiddled in and out of the cage formed by her fingers.

"We both planned this," she said.

"I—wh—Huh?"

"I told Euphie what you were doing, so she started the Special Administrative Zone."

My eyes widened. I felt something heavy form in my gut. Guilt, probably.

"Euphie…I….oh, shit…_Shit! _So she died thinking I'd ordered Lucy to—"

Nunnally pressed her hand to my lips and scooted closer. As I've probably said elsewhere, Nunners had the softest hands I've ever felt. She must've bought Vaseline by the gallon.

"She—_we_—knew that you were sincere. She also knew that Lucy might try to kill her…but you didn't expect the massacre, did you?"

"No," I admitted. "I didn't."

She shook her head sadly.

"We overestimated you, then. Still…"

"What?" I asked.

Nunnally waved me away.

"No. You'd think badly of Euphie if I told you."

With a lead-in like _that_, you can't blame me for being curious. I put my hand on her cheek, trying to gently pull her back. She flinched away.

"Nunners, I just killed ten million people. You really think that anything Euphie did would shock--"

"She figured out that if Lucy killed her, you'd turn against the Black Knights and we'd have peace anyway. I—I didn't want her to, but Euphie was always so _stubborn_…"

Okay, I admit it: _that_ floored me. Nunners' fists tightened into little balls around her skirt.

"We're all just a bunch of murderers, aren't we Lelouch?"

Her shoulders rose and fell with little convulsive sobs. Great. Just great.

"I dunno, Nunners…I wouldn't say _murderers_, exactly—"

"But we _are_!" she snapped.

"That's not entirely true…"

She clamped her hands over her ears and shook her head like she used to when she was three years old and her older siblings were fighting. I took the point, and shut up. She relaxed a little.

"I always thought I'd be happy just _living_ with you…" she said.

This time, _she_ laughed bitterly.

"Look at us now…"

I'll tell you what _should_ have happened: I should have gathered her up in my arms and patted her on the head and told her that everything would be okay, because somehow, somewhere, the Cosmic Gods had decided that the vi Britannias had suffered enough. She would have cried for a while, but at least I would have given her the consolation of knowing that her brother wasn't a complete bastard.

Here's what I actually said:

"So what now, Empress?"

She straightened when I said that, and her face chilled. It was amazing to watch her pull herself together so quickly, although she hadn't repaired the pieces first. Ah, the stench of official responsibility…

"I'm…I'm the only one left with any legitimacy, aren't I?" she said.

"Yep."

She stood up, running her fingers along the shelf. They turned gray from the dust.

"Suzaku told me about the Requiem," she said. "The delayed version, I mean. The one that happens forty years down the road after you've eased Britannia into democracy. It's—it's a good idea, Brother."

I felt a brief surge of hope.

"You'll let me go through with it?" I asked.

Nunnally brought her fingers up to eye level and rubbed them together. Some of the bits of dust rolled into balls and fell to the floor. Most stuck.

"Not…quite," she said.

The doors opened. Rough hands grabbed me and pulled me from the room. That's when I knew what was happening.

"No! Nunners, you can't—"

"I can, Lelouch. You said it yourself: I'm the Empress now. _Somebody_ needs to die for this, and it's _not_ going to be you. Guards?"

"Nunners, stop! You're a little fool! You hear me? STOP IT!"

The doors slammed.


	31. First Epilogue of Two: Lucy

**First Epilogue of Two: Lucy**

**

* * *

  
**

_I met a traveller from an antique land  
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone  
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,  
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown  
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command  
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read  
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,  
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.  
And on the pedestal these words appear:  
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:  
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"  
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay  
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare  
The lone and level sands stretch far away._

-- Percy Bysshe Shelley, _Ozymandias_

_

* * *

  
_

Young people make revolutions. Adults make compromises. We did a little of both.

Euphemia had been in her grave for ten years. The Britannian Empire was dying in bits and pieces. No servants greeted me as I pulled the oak doors open. A suit of armor, grayed with age and probably a replica, stood vigil by the steps ahead. The floor squeaked. Black-and-offwhite tiles covered it, probably plastic rather than stone. When I saw them, I half-expected to see a giant chess king on the floor, but didn't.

This was supposed to be Lelouch's gilded prison. I say "supposed to be" because no one can imprison a Geass user perfectly. Not even the Empress of Britannia.

Cheers erupted in the dining room. We were all together again--sort of--though I didn't know why Shirley had invited me. Ah, but I did, though: Kallen had arrived for her bi-annual tryst with Lelouch, and Shirley wanted to get her own back.

Maybe I'm being unfair. No…I _am_ being unfair. I'd helped Lelouch more than most, and tonight's triumph was also my triumph. Shirley respected that, even if I didn't.

I decided to stay inconspicuous.

Shirley greeted me when I stepped through the door, while the others scowled or turned away. While Shirley fussed with my coat ("Really, Lucy, I can get it…") and brushed off stray bits of snow, I looked for Lelouch.

The room attested to an odd mixture of retirement and adventure. It smelled of old wood and spice. Lelouch had filled the walls—literally filled them—with Christmas and New Year's cards. It had become a patchwork of pinks, greens, reds, and whites. Pictures of dogs and cartoon people smiled at us from the "joke" cards. The patchwork terminated abruptly above the fireplace, where Lelouch (or perhaps Shirley, under Lelouch's orders) had hung a _kukri_. Every year, the children breathlessly asked him to take it down and show it to them. Every year, he solemnly explained that the knife couldn't leave its scabbard without drawing blood. They'd whine and cry and finally Lelouch would relent, nicking his thumb before showing it to them. Once, Jeremiah had tried to point out that the '_never draw a kukri without drawing blood_' idea was a myth, but Lelouch silenced him with a stern glare.

"You'll ruin the _romance_ of the thing," the former emperor had grumbled.

A Christmas tree filled almost half the room, although Christmas had passed weeks ago. Each time, the tree grew larger. Trimming it required a small army, which is why Lelouch had invited Milly's and Kaguya's children over weeks in advance, like a Pharaoh summoning laborers for their yearly pyramid building. Also like a Pharaoh, he repaid them: a gingerbread mansion sat on the table half-eaten. It had turned stale by now.

Shirley once told me that Lelouch decorated this way because he hoped Nunnally would come. She never did.

At last, the man of the hour arrived. Lelouch entered from the kitchen, wine glass raised…and slightly tipsy. Apparently, his alcohol tolerance hadn't improved with age. He was still thin, but he no longer showed the emaciated gangliness of his youth. Two days' worth of stubble had accumulated on his chin, probably because he was too preoccupied to shave. When I looked at him, I saw traces of his father's face. His eyes twinkled when he saw me, perhaps from the wine.

"Lucy!...Er, how are you?"

The rest of the party didn't share his enthusiasm. Kallen, who'd come from the kitchen after him, sneered and took a seat as far from me as possible. Kallen was "Japanese" by now, since Nunnally's first official decree had released her country from the Empire. She'd always be an Eleven to me.

Like most knightmare pilots, Kallen wouldn't be blessed with a long life. She died two years later, killed by a souped-up Gang Lou from a crowd of souped-up Gang Lous during the Second Sino-Japanese war. The pilot who'd killed her enjoyed a brief moment of celebrity as the Man-Who-Killed-The-Ace-Of-The-Elevens. Jeremiah cut it short, nearly triggering a war between Britannia and China in the process.

"I'm fine," I said. "And you?"

Lelouch shrugged

Suzaku turned his back to me. He'd dressed in full military regalia—the white coat and blue silk cape of a Knight of Rounds—despite his "retirement" nine years before. Actually, it had been nothing of the sort. Days after Nunnally took power, Suzaku and Lelouch had decided that the former Emperor deserved to die for peace a lot more than his little sister. They'd cobbled a coup together. Nunnally had beaten them. Suzaku's "honorable" discharge had followed.

It had taken me three minutes to tell Suzaku that I planned the Massacre, and three years for Suzaku to admit it to himself. Hypocrite. The two men still eyed each other with suspicion, but they'd accomplished a lot in the last ten years. Nunnally had been their greatest failure…and that, too, united them.

Lelouch made a short speech that concluded with "Ah, but we _lived_ before we'll die, didn't we?" Kallen smiled. Then she told him to shut up and drink his wine. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and scooped another cracker into Milly's _pâté pur canard_.

Little Ruben—that's Milly's son, in case you haven't guessed—sprinted past me with Daichi hard on his heels. Every year, the smaller Ashfords and Sumeragis took grim pleasure in the marshmallow fights that Lelouch organized to keep them busy. (Sometimes, so did the mothers).

A thought struck me. It was too bad that Lelouch and Nunnally had agreed that the vi Britannia line would die out with them. Perhaps he remembered his own father, and wondered if he'd fallen too close to the tree.

That was Shirley's theory, anyway.

Since I know you're going to ask: Yes, Lelouch and Milly cleared up their differences. No, she never forgave him. But life is short, as we discovered when we tallied up the rolls of the dead from "our" revolution.

In the corner of the room, Little Ruben threw up Cecile's carrot cake. Anya's camera captured the scene for posterity. Gods only know how she'd escaped Akasha.

Lelouch shushed us and turned the television's volume up. The news we'd all come to hear was seconds away when Kallen coughed and pointedly looked at the chair next to her own…and far from mine. Lelouch sat beside her. They held hands, which Shirley pretended not to notice.

On the screen: a courtroom. A long-haired man and a young woman stood behind metal railings. Police with crisp uniforms and chin straps on their hats lined up behind _them_. The man bent over the railing and spoke in wheezes and coughs. His body had withered, but I could tell that he'd once been athletic from the traces of muscle that remained. The woman looked down, wringing her hands. I wondered if her white hair was natural. One of the men on the bench—a fat, balding guy with thick-rimmed glasses, not that he deserves to be remembered—asked if the defendants had anything to say before he sentenced them.

Li Xingke—the Loyal General, the man who'd run over protesters in Tiananmen Square and killed mountains of disaffected workers until his conscripts cracked under the pressure—gave them an earful. He called them six different kinds of traitor, cursed their families unto the final generation, and humbly suggested that they all hang themselves. China's last Empress just wept. She had tried to stand in the way of a democratic revolution, and had paid the price. The Eunuchs were already hanging from lampposts.

Lelouch, Suzaku, and the rest watched the performance with muted triumph. And why not? We'd done it, after all. China was the latest in a long line of revolutions which had ostensibly spread democracy to the world's far corners.

That was the official spin, anyway. We knew better. With each revolution, disturbance, peace rally, and coup, Lelouch made the world _just_ unstable enough that Nunnally couldn't sacrifice herself in the Requiem.

Perhaps you've noticed C.C.'s absence. She'd helped Lelouch more than any of us, and paid the heaviest price. When China reeled from its Revolution, Nunnally's soldiers took the witch away.

Lelouch had retaliated. He renewed his annual order to Jeremiah to refuse to lift Schneizel's Geass. I wondered if ten years of feeling imaginary water in your lungs was excessive, but it really wasn't my quarrel.

On television, a gavel banged. The court announced the death penalty. When the announcement came, Milly's brats tooted one of his cardboard horn before his mother scolded him into silence.

* * *

I slipped out. My eyes adjusted to the hallway's darkness more slowly than they once could.

_Where's the coat rack, again…?_

"Lucy?"

A man stood in the hall, silhouetted by the living room's light. Deftly, his fingers lifted a coat from the rack and placed it on my shoulders. I gave a sigh of resignation. The coat was still wet from the snow.

"Hey, Lelouch."

"Leaving already?" he asked.

"I'm afraid so."

"You don't need to—" he began, but stopped himself. We both knew that I wasn't welcome, Shirley's invitation notwithstanding. Speaking of whom…

"It's really not fair to her, Lelouch."

"Kallen only comes twice a year," he said. "Shirley doesn't mind."

"She does, and you know it," I replied.

Instead of answering, Lelouch turned to a map on the wall. It looked as if a medieval cartographer had painted it. Compass roses, florid mermaids, and sea monsters rubbed elbows in the corners, but the political divisions were modern. Someone had stuck push-pins into some of them, with little white flags attached. They had writing:

_Madagascar, 2019_

_Thailand, 2020_

_Uganda, 2021_

_Philippines, 2024_

_Canada, 2025_

_Australia, 2026_

Most were former Britannian colonies that had succumbed to dictatorships after Nunnaly freed them. Unfortunately, Zero was still alive and well—and pro-democracy. Lelouch pulled a red box from his pocket, opening its metal snap. His thumb and forefinger emerged with another push-pin flag between them. He stuck it in:

_China, 2028_

"You know, Lucy, I've found a replacement for chess these days," he said.

The subject of games brought up a fond memory from an evening long since past.

"Poker?" I asked.

He grinned.

"Dominoes."

Then Lelouch stepped back and surveyed his work. I sighed. He rolled onto his heels.

"Just as planned…" he whispered.

"But Lelouch, your memoirs said—"

A sharp, barking laugh.

"And I always tell the truth, don't I?" he said.

"You'd better just be screwing with me…"

Lelouch smirked. He patted me on the shoulder.

"I'm afraid you'll never know," he said.

He opened the door. The hinges squealed as the bottom half dragged across the floor. Snow billowed in. Lelouch clicked his heels and opened his hand to the outside, like an usher directing people to their seats. I laughed.

"As always, you're a master of misdirection," I said.

"Eh?"

"We were talking about Shirley. Nice try, though."

His smirk faded. He leaned against the door.

"Shirley's a Britannian," he said. "She knows that keeping a mistress is my prerogative."

"Just because she accepts it doesn't make it right," I said. "She's fragile, Lelouch…"

He scowled.

"It was a condition of our marriage," he said.

"Again, not the issue."

Lelouch's fingers tightened on the door's edge. His voice assumed the air of a professor scolding a student—and a particularly stupid student at that.

"We've been over this before, Lucy. Shirley gets me for nine-tenths of the year, doesn't she? I would've married Kallen, but—"

"Yeah," I said. "Politics. Right. That's still not an answer."

"That's life," he replied.

Like I said: adults make compromises. I glared at him and indulged in a little hypocrisy.

"You're really a selfish bastard. You know that?"

"I know," he said. "So…this time next year?"

"I'll come," I said.

"Good."

My boots crunched in the snow. The door shut behind me, and I walked to my house by the soft glow of streetlamps.


	32. Second Epilogue: Lelouch

**Second Epilogue: Lelouch**

_Kallen sits on the edge of our bed, chin resting on her hands. Her nightgown rustles slightly. Downstairs, the guests have left. Streamers, ribbons, and trampled marshmallows cover the floors, but I can clean it tomorrow. Shirley has already nestled into the guest bedroom across the hall._

_Kallen has straightened her hair for me, like she wore it when she met me ten years ago…as Karen Stadtfeld. To show that I appreciate the effort, I run my fingers through it._

_A guilty start. She must have heard a noise in the hallway, but I assure her it's nothing. Shirley's asleep by now. I know because weeks ago, I found earplugs and extra-drowsy flu medicine under our bed. Shirley vi Britannia was always well prepared._

_Kallen shivers. From the cold, perhaps. It's almost too dark too see her blush. Almost._

"_Is something wrong?" I ask._

_She nods._

"_You know what's wrong, Lelouch."_

_I stop stroking her hair and turn away from her. Her voice sharpens._

"_I hate it when you sulk," she says._

_I admire the sheen of our silk sheets and pretend I didn't hear her. In the mirror, her reflection crosses her arms._

"_I said—"_

"_I heard you," I reply. "And it's not as if I'm neglecting my conjugal duties for nine tenths of the year. If you care about Shirley's feelings THAT much, break this off. You're a free agent."_

_I compress as much scorn into the last two words as I can. That's quite a bit, since I've had lots of practice. Kallen sighs, relenting. She lies beside me, curling her arm over my shoulder._

"_I'm not a free agent," she says. "And I won't break it off until you tell me to."_

_For once, she's honest. I prefer to dance around the issue._

"_What's stopping you?" I grumble._

"_Oh, not much," she replies. "Just my mother's freedom. And the time you surrendered yourself to Schneizel for me after I betrayed you. And the Requiem you planned. And Japan. And…other things."_

_My back is turned to her, so she doesn't see my eyes roll. _

"_The world doesn't owe me anything," I say. _

"_Maybe not," she replies. "But I do."_

_I shrug. It's a gesture that doesn't work well when lying down._

"_Whatever keeps you in my bed, I guess."_

_I don't mean it to sound like that, but after ten years, she understands. I hold out a peace offering just the same. _

"_I hear you're off to China," I say._

"_Yeah," she says. "Three year peacekeeping mission. Apparently, __somebody's__ revolution destabilized the place."_

_I can't suppress a chuckle. Her victory won, Kallen gently turns me over, hovering a few millimeters above me. Our noses almost touch. She's wide-eyed, if no longer innocent._

"_Be careful," I say._

_She scoffs. Her devil-may-care smile lights up as she transforms for a moment from a shivering woman in a lace nightgown to the Ace of the Elevens. Zero's right hand. All that stuff._

_I prefer Kallen Kozuki._

"_It's a police job," she says. "What can go wrong?"_

"_I suppose you're right. Just come back on the holidays, would you?"_

"_Will do."_

_I stroke her cheek and guide her face down the last few millimeters. Our lips meet, and the night begins._

_

* * *

  
_

An old man waited at a grave. His frame was bony and thin, but he still stood straight as a lance. Time hadn't bent him…much. Rain pattered around him, but not loudly enough to mask the ravens' caw in the distance. He breathed in deeply, appreciating their poetic appropriateness—the last ingredient of his Grieving-Old-Man-Visits-Loved-One scene, so perfect that he could have choreographed it himself. His soggy tweed jacket clung to him.

Me.

A few yards away in the cemetery, a brass statue sat on a throne, legs crossed. Drops of water clung to the soles of the statue's feet like glass cleats. I turned my attention back to the headstone. It was simple granite, as per the occupant's instructions. I would have built a pyramid for Kallen, or a mausoleum where the crowds could worship her preserved body like some deified Roman empress. Too bad she never wanted one.

I _had_ built one for Shirley. Shirley's will had been considerate enough to leave the funeral preparations to me, and if anyone deserved a monument, it was my long-suffering wife. Her tomb lay far away, on the other side of town. It would have been easier to inter Kallen beside it, but Shirley wouldn't have wanted her monument to loom over Kallen's grave. My wife was never petty.

And so every day I made two trips. Two visits. And doubtless they watched me from the Collective Unconscious and rolled their metaphysical eyes.

A leaf crunched. I turned to see a girl in a pink wool cap, miniskirt, and rainbow-colored stockings that seemed simultaneously too old and too young for her. I muttered about teenagers' odd tastes, stupid fashions, incomprehensible song lyrics…

She smirked.

I _knew_ that smirk.

"C.C.?!"

The girl raised an eyebrow. Rain hammered on her umbrella.

"Hello, old-timer," she said. "I prefer Catherine, by the way."

The amber eyes didn't radiate the warmth I remembered. Before Nunners had taken her from me, I'd coaxed C.C. into something approaching normal affect. She still had some of it left—traces here and there, like bits of lint on a shirt—but…

I recalled two pieces of information.

Piece the First: Nunnally had access to my medical records. I didn't.

Piece the Second: Nunnally would never release C.C. unless she knew I wouldn't be able to use her.

"How long do I have?" I asked.

C.C.'s knowing grin disappeared. She turned away.

"You can lie if you want," I offered.

"Over a year," she said.

I laughed and ducked under the umbrella. The days when I would've stood in the rain until she invited me had passed a long time ago.

"Nice lie," I said.

"I knew you'd like it."

Too bad. I'd _really _looked forward to seeing the public's horror at my memoirs, but Lucy was a painfully slow editor. We reached a stone bench with angels carved onto the armrests. I sat down. C.C. joined me.

"I take it that you're planning to join me," I said.

The witch nodded. She stared at the woods in the distance, but rain and mist made it difficult to see anything in them. The grass around us stood out from its gray surroundings like green phosphorous.

"This world holds nothing for me anymore," she said.

"Nervous?"

She laughed..

"A little," she admitted.

"And Nunners?"

Water drops ran off the umbrella's edge. They dripped in a steady _plit_-_plit_-_plit_ rhythm on my shoulder. C.C. sighed.

"Would you like the ambiguous answer that you'll figure out eventually, or the direct one?"

I tapped my chin mock-thoughtfully.

"Go with the direct one," I said. "I'm getting too old for riddles."

"I'm giving your sister my Code."

"Oh…"

"It seems that your political games worked," she said. "Nunnally needs another fifty years to put everything in order before the Requiem, and her body won't hold up that long."

I didn't know what to say to that.

"Can you refuse?"

She shrugged.

"Yes…but Nunnally would just use V.V.'s code instead. Seventy years in a vat have convinced him that immortality has its downsides."

"Will she--?"

C.C. patted my arm.

"She'll be fine," she said.

"I didn't want it to end like this, you know…"

My former witch, former governess, and soon-to-be-partner in death stared into a pool of water forming in the dirt. Raindrops rippled the surface, but the bottom seemed still. Frozen in time, almost.

"I know," she said.

"Well then…I'll see you in the Collective Unconscious in a few months," I said.

"And sooner," she added, taking my hand in hers.

"And sooner," I agreed.

We stood up and walked to the cemetery's iron gates. Drops of water clung to the rails.

"I'm afraid Pizza Hut went out of business," I said.

The look of horror on her face was priceless.

"I'm joking, of course. I can buy you a slice if—Ow! Ouch--stop that! I'm a feeble old man, for crying out loud."

Her mouth curled into a grin.

"And still rather handsome for a man of your age," she said.

"Clean living and great genes. Don't tease me, witch."

She tapped her finger on her lips. The mischievous grin did not recede.

"Ah, well…time enough for that in the Collective Unconscious," she said.

"You'll have competition."

C.C. gave a dainty little _hmph_ and turned away, arms crossed.

"I can take Kallen any day of the week," she said.

"I know," I replied. "It's Shirley I'm worried about."

We walked over a stone bridge. I paused to watch the muddy water lap against the shore and the ducks dive for food. They didn't mind the rain. The sides of the bridge felt rough to my numbed fingers. I turned one palm up, and saw muddy water drip from it.

"Isn't the villain supposed to get his comeuppance or something?" I asked.

"Haven't you?"

"Perhaps…"

She leaned over the railing alongside me and met my eyes.

"Much like a certain former governess's fairy tales, life isn't always fair," she said.

"Speaking of which…"

Her eyebrow rose slightly.

"Yes?"

"Care to tell me one?" I asked.

Again, C.C. shrugged.

"Why not?" she said. "It's a long walk back."

We crossed the bridge and entered the field beyond it.


	33. Author Notes

**Author Notes**

First and foremost, I want to thank all of you for your suggestions and reviews. I hope you enjoyed reading _Galton's Children_ as much as I enjoyed writing it. Since I've probably left unanswered questions here and there, I will post an addendum in a week or two to answer any questions you ask me. Feel free to send me PMs or ask me questions in your reviews.

And now, to the notes…

**Romance** -- Many will probably dislike my conclusion. Personally, I would have liked to end it happily, but this seemed to fit better. I'll do my best to explain my reasoning.

The Britannian royal family practiced casual polygamy, and the _Galton's Children _version of Lelouch would have grown up with Britannian social mores. Some stories assume that a "harem" would be a good idea. I strongly disagree, but I can see rationale for it--Lelouch tended to disregard others' feelings when it served his purposes. He probably wouldn't have minded keeping several girls around if (and when) he ever decided to pay attention to women. That being said, I doubt that anybody would be very happy with the arrangement. Whatever else he was, Lelouch was never a romantic.

Kallen and Shirley would not have been as hard to win over as one might think. Despite her jealousy of Kallen, Shirley allowed Lelouch to get away with murdering her father in an all-too-easy "I forgive you" moment. And Lelouch _did _walk over her when he felt like it, even in canon.I suspect he would get away with a mistress.

Kallen's end is a bit more complicated. Her willpower nearly broke when she saw Lelouch using Refrain, despite suspecting that he was involved with C.C. at the time. And of course, she _did_ love Lelouch...just never enough to sell out humanity for him. In canon, she always submerged her personal feelings in the service of The Cause. She also couldn't marry him, since she is Japan's military protector. Given that Lelouch made Kallen much more indebted to him in this version (she didn't realize that he'd killed himself for world peace in canon until it was too late, unlike here), and that she's unlikely to have much of a personal life in her new role as head of the Japanese military, I see their relationship as plausible. A compromise.

Not a very happy one, unfortunately. Byronic heroes don't make good companions, and knightmare pilots have short life expectancies...

**The Sliding Scale of Idealism Versus Cynicism** – I admit it: _Galton's Children_ falls closer to the cynical end of the spectrum. Part of this had to do with the source material. Code Geass is a show about terrorism, and Elfen Lied is a violent, depressing story about medical experimentation on (more or less) human beings.

Luck also played a role. Lelouch's repeated failure to kill "named" characters in Code Geass _canon_ wasn't from lack of trying, but the writers shielded him from the consequences of his actions by sparing their lives and refusing to show the Rebellion's effects on ordinary people…except for Shirley's father.

For those who'd prefer an answer to the eternal question, "Who's the bad guy?" I'm not sure. Without rereading my story, my initial impression is that Nunners and Euphie are the heroes, Shirley's somewhere in between, Lelouch is the villain, and everybody else is even worse.

I tried to write the insurgency fairly realistically. Since I'm not a terrorist (or an interrogator, or a prince, or a revolutionary, or a coup plotter…), I had to use historical and primary sources. I modeled the Black Knights on a combination of the Algerian FLN and the Brazilian ALN, with bits of _Sendero Luminoso_ and the German RAF thrown in. (Bonus points for anybody who recognized Duke Andreas of Baader). As Lelouch mentioned in chapter 3, Britannian counterinsurgency tactics—including Cornelia's rationale for using torture—come from Roger Trinquier, a French officer from the Algerian revolutionary war.

As for the others: the Peace Movement was a fictional combination of the Iranian revolution and OTPOR in Serbia, which used Gene Sharp's theories of nonviolent struggle to overthrow Milosevic. Lelouch's maxims came from Francesco Guicciardini, a sixteenth century Italian statesman, diplomat, and (surprise, surprise) close friend of Machiavelli's.

Any mistakes are mine.

**Theatricality and Angst** – It was hard to draw a line between over-the-top emotionality and staying true to canon. Lelouch indulged in melodrama (ahem…narm) deliberately, and many CG characters took themselves and their problems very, very seriously. I also put them through the wringer more than canon, so I had to take that into account. Your mileage may vary.

**Alternate History** – Code Geass's original historical timeline is truly bizarre. My own suspicion is that J.P. Morgan, Cecil Rhodes, and a coalition of angry fashion designers acquired Geass sometime in the 1870's and took over the United States. Draw your own conclusions.

**Lelouch** –Yes, Mr. Lamperouge is a bit out of character. A lot of stories assume that Lelouch as a prince would end up a kinder, more stable individual. I disagree. Britannian court life _created_ Charles di Britannia and his equally homicidal brother in the first place. Canon mentions seven children who were raised at court:

Carline / Carine – Racist, genocidal, and violently imperialist. Nunnally's polar opposite.

Euphemia – Didn't do anything terrible. Then again, Cornelia sheltered her from real responsibility.

Clovis – Tried to commit mass murder to cover up his "experiments" on C.C.

Cornelia – Willing to exterminate Saitama to draw Zero out.

Guinevere – Canon doesn't mention much about her, other than a taste for monumental architecture

Odysseus – Tried to marry a _very_ underage girl for political purposes.

Schneizel – No explanation necessary, really. Tried to nuke the world.

…Not a good batting average. Even if Lelouch survived V.V.'s assassination attempts (not likely, by the way), he wouldn't have emerged from the ordeal unscathed. The process might have slowed down if Marianne survived, but she didn't, and since C.C. already left, Lelouch would have lacked _any_ parental figures. Court politics would wear his idealism down to the nub.

I wrote my version of Lelouch as a product of that environment—sneakier, more paranoid, selfish, superficially arrogant, and secretly unsure of himself. The story's cynical tone comes partly from its narrator. A third person account or a first-person narrator like Euphemia or Nunnally would have made it more cheerful. And speaking of narrators…

**Lucy and Elfen Lied **– Several reviewers have never watched Elfen Lied, and I can't really recommend it. A friend showed it to me after I saw Evangelion. Elfen Lied is explicit and rather sadistic—often unrealistically so. (e.g.: **Q: **"We found a group of girls with telekinetic powers via invisible arms. How should we study them?" **A: **"Easy! Throw stuff at them for eight years and see if they say 'Ow!'").

This is only my opinion, of course. No offense is intended.

Lucy intrigued me, though. I felt a bit sorry for her (the Facility scenes in my story were mild compared to canon). More importantly, she was a well-rounded character with an interesting blend of guilt, sociopathy, and a nearly pathological need to be loved. Lucy deserved a better foil than the bland guy she ended up with in the original. It didn't help that the writers saddled canon Lucy with a second, toddler-like personality courtesy of a .50 caliber round to the head. (Long story). In any event, Lelouch provided that foil. His machine-mind matched well with hers, but the differences were also interesting. Lucy was unfailingly loyal to a single person and considered the rest of the humanity as target practice, while Lelouch cared about "humanity" in the abstract at the expense of individual people.

Their collaborative portrayal of "Zero" combined both of their failings.

**Chess** – Thanks to Britannian patronage, Paul Morphy never went crazy after losing his money in the American Civil War. He beat Steinitz in 1868 and retired as the Grand Old Man of the game in 1884. As a result, chess never progressed beyond Morphy's attacking style and Steinitzian theory never caught on. Completely irrelevant to the plot, of course, but I thought I'd mention it.

**Shameless Plugs: Where Do I Go From Here?** To be honest, writing _Galton's Children_ became a bit taxing by the end. Contrary to what you might think after reading what I did to Lelouch in _Galton's Children_, I actually _LIKE_ our megalomaniacal friend….and most of the other characters. Unfortunately, Lelouch & Co had slipped _so_ far into karma debt and killed _so_ many people that I didn't see any other way for it to end. As Lelouch would say: Too little, too late.

If anybody's interested, I'd enjoy writing a not-quite-sequel about Lelouch's final gambit that brought down the Chinese empire. If nothing else, it would show the characters' last hurrah before Empress Nunners split them apart, and would be more upbeat since (almost) everybody is working on the same side for once. I could start in a month or two, after I depressurize a little from this one.

As crazy as it sounds, I also started writing an Evangelion / Geass crossover to cheer up. It's in the Evangelion section of the site, although you can also access it from my profile. On paper, it _does_ seem a little better. Marianne's still alive, which means that Lelouch may not catapult so far off the moral event horizon that he can't get back without corrupting his sister and killing the entire cast. We'll see.

Oh, and he's up against Gendo Ikari.

The story's called _In Solitude, Where We Are Least Alone_. And yes, the title is another Byron quote.

**Acknowledgements**

I'd like to thank…

* MrCJ for his review of an early draft of the first chapter and the Epilogue. Without his help, _Galton's Children_ would have been a much simpler, happier story. And nobody wants that.

* TVTropes. I discovered fan fiction thanks to this wiki. Great, great resource.

* You, the reviewers. As you may have noticed, I took your comments into account as I developed this story. You encouraged me to explore problems I hadn't given a lot of thought to at first—particularly Lucy's descent from loyal subordinate to Zero of the Massacre. So really, Lelouch's problems were all _your_ fault. Yep…

* The gentleman who sent me a _Galton's Children_ picture for the TV tropes page. There's a link to it on my profile.

Until next time, thanks for reading.

**Questions? Comments?**


	34. Addendum: Questions Answered

**Addendum: Questions**

This will be the last "chapter" I'll post. I'll be updating this page from time to time if any new questions come up, but if not, thanks again for reading.

**Guibin: **Nunnally did receive a Geass from C.C. in exchange for the promise that she'd allow C.C. to see Lelouch in a few years after he ceased to be a threat. The Geass was probably similar to the one she received in _Nightmare of Nunnally_, which allowed her to see the future.

**Anonymous (Re: The "Nunners" Question): **'Nunners' was an affectionate fan nickname for Lelouch's sister that I chose to use because it showed a type of easy camaraderie between Lelouch and Nunnally that never existed in the original series. In canon, Lelouch handled his sister like porcelain—incredibly gently, for fear of hurting her. Since _Galton's Children_ Nunnally grew up without injuries, Lelouch and Nunnally could banter and joke with each other more easily. I suspect that Lelouch teased her with "Nunners" when they were both children, but the nickname stuck and acquired more emotional depth as they grew older. And you're right: Lelouch _certainly_ respected Nunnally's abilities, and loved her very much.

**Zerole the Untamed: **Nope, you didn't just imagine the C.C. x Lelouch hints…

**This Is My Name:** As requested, the final list…

Lelouch – Died of natural causes in his late nineties, seventy years after bringing down the Chinese Empire. Democratized most of the world before his death, albeit bloodily.

Suzaku– Reconciled with Lelouch several years after their failed (second) Requiem. Helped bring down the Chinese Empire, and remained in touch with Lelouch thereafter. Died in obscurity in his seventies, of natural causes. Nunnally and Lelouch both attended the funeral.

C.C. – Imprisoned by Nunnally until a few months before Lelouch's death. Died when she gave Nunnally her Code.

Nunnally – Lived another fifty-seven years. She left the world a united republic under the U.F.N. before joining her brother in the Collective Unconscious.

Kallen – Died during the Second Sino-Japanese war. Her efforts ended China's brief civil war.

Rolo – Splattered by Nana, Chapter 14

Arthur – Decapitated by Lucy, Chapter 6

Milly – Married and had children. Died of natural causes.

Rivalz – Killed in a subway bombing, Chapter 12

Nina Einstein – Lived to a ripe old age. Unfortunately.

Shirley – Married Lelouch. Died of natural causes.

Sayoko – Killed by Jeremiah, Chapter 10

Ohgi – Sent on a suicide mission by Lucy, Chapter 12

Minami – Purged by Lucy, Chapter 15

Sugiyama – Purged by Lucy, Chapter 15

Tamaki – Purged by Lucy, Chapter 15

Yoshida – Purged by Lucy, Chapter 15

Inoue – Purged by Lucy, Chapter 15

Tohdoh – Executed by Britannians, Chapter 12

Asahina – Executed by Britannians, Chapter 7

Chiba – Executed by Britannians, Chapter 7

Senba – Executed by Britannians, Chapter 7

Urabe – Executed by Britannians, Chapter 7

Taizo Kirihara – Killed during Cornelia's counterinsurgency

Futaba – Purged by Lucy, Chapter 15

Hinata – Purged by Lucy, Chapter 15

Minase – Purged by Lucy, Chapter 15

Kagesaki – Purged by Lucy, Chapter 15

Kaguya – Married and had children. Died of natural causes.

Rakshata – Locked in a Chinese prison camp after trying to liberate India. After Lelouch's "Cultural Revolution" ten years after Nunnally's accession, her whereabouts are unknown.

Diethard – Killed by Rolo, Chapter 14

Charles zi (di) Britannia – Died in the Thought Elevator, Chapter 24. Since he wasn't wiped out of existence, Lelouch is in for a _very_ unpleasant family reunion when he enters the Collective Unconscious.

Marianne – Ditto.

Odysseus – Killed by Lucy, Chapter 15

Guinevere – Killed by Lucy, Chapter 15

Euphemia – Killed by Lucy, Chapter 15

Carline – Killed by Lucy, Chapter 15 (I'm starting to sense a pattern…)

Schneizel – Also lived to a ripe old age. I don't envy the guy…

Clovis – Killed by Lelouch via mind-control suicide, Chapter 12

Bismarck – Killed by Lucy, Chapter 25

Gino -- Killed by Lucy, Chapter 25

Dorothea – Killed by Lucy, Chapter 25 (I'm seriously considering copying-and-pasting "killed by Lucy" for the remainder of this list…)

Anya – SURVIVED!!!!!!!!!! (Well, died of natural causes years later like Milly and Kaguya. That counts, I guess…)

Nonette -- Killed by Lucy, Chapter 25

Luciano -- Killed by Lucy, Chapter 25. And good riddance.

Monica -- Killed by Lucy, Chapter 25

Bartley -- Killed by Lucy, Chapter 15

Darlton -- Killed by Lucy, Chapter 15

Jeremiah – Became a go-between for Lelouch and Nunnally. Managed to get them together from time to time. Died of natural causes.

Guilford -- Killed by Lucy, Chapter 15

The Glaston Knights -- Killed by Lucy, Chapter 15

Kanon – Survived, incredibly enough.

Villetta – Killed by Sayoko, Chapter 10

Kewell – Killed by Jeremiah, Chapter 5

Lloyd – Killed by Lelouch, Chapter 12

Cecile Croomy – Survived. Did not marry or have children. Died of natural causes.

V.V. – Floating in a vat somewhere under Alamogordo. Unearthed thousands of years later in an archaeological dig…

Alicia Lohmeyer – Incredibly, Nunnally's racist, xenophobic guardian escaped my notice. Not anymore! Hit by a bus shortly after Lelouch's coup failed.

Le Xingke – Executed for his brutal response to the Chinese Democracy Movement. Buried beside his beloved Empress.

Tianzi – As above.

The Eunuchs – Like Le and Tianzi, the Eunuchs were executed by China's new democratic rulers.

Hong Gu and Zhou Xianglin – Imprisoned for their roles in the Tiananmen Massacre. Not high profile enough to bother executing.

Mao – Killed by Suzaku, Chapter 20

Lucy – Survived. Still very young when Lelouch died, in Diclonius years. Published Lelouch's memoirs, much to Nunnally's chagrin, and then faded into obscurity. Nunnally was unable to locate her.

Kohta – Last spotted in Chapter 6. Probably emigrated with Yuuka and survived.

Yuuka – See above.

Mayu – May (or may not) have been executed by the Black Knights for turning in her stepfather, Chapter 19

Nana – MAYBE killed by Jeremiah, Chapter 23. I prefer to think that her freaky recuperative abilities got her out of it, since she was far from the blast radius, and...

…Actually, you know what? Yes. Nana survived. Somehow—I don't care how—she survived the blast, received Rakshata's antidote courtesy of Lelouch's Imperial Decree #1, and was adopted by a nurturing family that loved her. Screw cynicism.

Kurama – Delivered to Lucy's custody, Chapter 29. Take a wild guess what happens.

Bando – Killed by Nana, Chapter 11

Mariko – Killed by Lelouch's bombers, Chapter 23

Director Kakuzawa and his son – Executed for treason, Chapter 11

**Nightwing of the Azure Shadow** – Yep, Britannian medical technology is truly impressive...

**Fellow Sufferer** – Yes, Lucy ended up with the short end of the stick. On the bright side, she had over seventy years with Lelouch and Shirley (she visited more often after Kallen died), which is a LOT more than she got in canon. I also fear for the next would-be dictator after Nunnally dies, considering that Zero is still in the shadows somewhere…

**EL x CG Fan** – I assumed that Lucy's vectors (which I _did_ know were invisible arms) were a type of telekinesis, since she can apparently summon and dismiss them at will and make them move through solid objects. Sorry you didn't like the epilogues, and thank you for your honesty.

**Green Cloud:** I tried to restrain most of Nunnally's OOC moments until the epilogues, when decades of ruling an empire destroyed her remaining naiveté. I always thought that canon Lelouch gave Nunnally the short end of the stick when he thrust an unprepared, emotionally and physically crippled girl onto the throne. At least _Galton's Children_'s version of Nunnally went into her new job with both eyes open…no pun intended.

As to the world chess championship, it passed from Morphy to Zukertort (Steinitz retired a frustrated man after Morphy destroyed him). After a brief sojourn in Europe, the title returned to Britannia when Pillsbury crushed Zukertort in the 1890s (+8 =4 -0; first to eight wins) under Royal patronage. Thereafter, Britannia's genetically engineered nobility monopolized the title.

**Mr. CJ: **Horror. Absolute, unstinting horror.

Also mild amusement.

* * *

Incidentally, Lelouch's abnormally high IQ (220) could owe its existence to one of two scenarios. Either:

1) Britannia's massive, century-long breeding program (with mandatory testing) gave them a large enough sample size that it's plausible

2) It uses Binet's older "mental age" measurement, and was administered very early. Since the Britannian eugenics program began in the 19th century, I find this more plausible.


End file.
